Illusions
by Serri
Summary: A serial killer knows impossibly too much about his victims . . . .
1. Chapter 1

Title: Illusions  
  
  
Author's Note: This story takes place somewhere near the end of the seventh   
  
season of the X-Files. It's my first X-Files fic, so please be nice. Mulder   
  
first, then Scully is on the trial of a serial killer who seems to know   
  
impossibly too much about his victims. Also, a bit of emphasis on the Christian   
  
religion. I'm Christian, so naturally some of my characters are-however, the   
  
characters beliefs aren't necessarily my own. Hope you like it.  
  
  
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they're Chris Carter's and all those   
  
people over at Ten Thirteen Productions.  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
St. Louis, Missouri  
  
Unknown Residence  
  
The man sat at his computer screen, shaking in barely controlled rage.   
  
Sweat dripped off his forehead as he glared at the screen, rocking back and   
  
forth.   
  
  
"No," he growled. "lies, all lies." They were all traitors, traitors to   
  
the truth, and rock-steady in their self-deception. Scorn streamed from him   
  
like water from a fountain, changing his barely controlled rage into a cold   
  
blaze of anger. He stared at the screen, looking more closely at the words of   
  
the story.  
  
  
As he looked at the computer screen, he reached into the mind of the   
  
hapless writer. He or she . . . had to know, had to understand the truth. As   
  
he sat, he felt the change begin.  
  
  
He let his eyes drift shut as he shut out the physical world from around   
  
him. He reached deeper, trying to find the mind, the soul of the writer. There   
  
. . . right in front of him. He could just see her presence behind a flimsy   
  
veil. He reached out with all his fury and betrayal, swiftly changing them into   
  
power and ripping the veil to shreds and slipping behind the shroud.  
  
  
He was no longer inside his small apartment in downtown St. Louis, but in   
  
an unfamiliar hallway, perhaps of a local grade or high school. One figure, the  
  
one whose mind he now occupied strode purposefully down the hall, the man   
  
quickly followed. As the girl rounded the hallway, it disappeared, leaving them   
  
outside in another, unknown place, perhaps the school gymnasium.  
  
  
It was then that he knew he was inside her dreams. He rarely visited   
  
their dreams. It was a time in which the subconscious ruled nearly all. Very   
  
little, if any coherent thought existed in the dream world, and thus it was   
  
difficult to know the people he sought out . . . those who had betrayed him.   
  
Betrayed him, and betrayed themselves constantly. Betrayal infuriated him like   
  
nothing else, it was the most capital sin.  
  
  
He watched her carefully as she turned and stopped. She appeared to be   
  
waiting for someone, almost bored. The man looked around the gym. The colors   
  
were swirling, unreal. Shades of shifting color that didn't actually exist.   
  
The colors were almost purple, almost red . . . but they didn't quite make   
  
sense, like dreams themselves. He studied the young woman almost clinically.   
  
She had short red-brown hair that came to about two inches above her shoulders.   
  
She had wide, brown eyes and open, deceptively honest features. She was of   
  
average height, with a stocky build.  
  
  
"There you are, Abby," a young male voice said. he walked up to the young   
  
woman without hesitation. Then he landed a wild punch right on her jaw. Abby,   
  
the girl, backed up, fighting back with some obvious skill. She used a series   
  
of standard blocks, which the man recognized. As the man observed the fight, he   
  
noticed something else. The girl was using rather standard self-defense moves,   
  
locks and pressure points that weren't learned by a few, violent encounters in   
  
the school yard.  
  
  
Abby leapt back, sharply executing a front snap kick to the young man's   
  
knee. He went down instantly, grabbing his knee and howling aloud, one of the   
  
few audible sounds in Abby's dreamscape.   
  
  
"Abby," a voice called out, surprising the man and at the same time   
  
chilling him to the bone. Another young woman had appeared from nowhere. She   
  
stepped forward out of the shadows and stared at the young man still kneeling on   
  
the floor. "Go away," she said calmly, and with a certain amount of authority.   
  
The image instantly vanished, and the girl turned to Abby with a gentile smile.   
  
"You're dreaming, Abby."  
  
"Oh," she replied, "all right, then."  
  
Abruptly, the other girl, slightly taller and with a dark complexion,   
  
seemed to notice the man's presence. That had never happened before. "What are   
  
you doing here?" she asked as the dreamscape dissolved.  
  
The man sat in front of his computer, noting that very little time had   
  
passed. He would return to her mind later on, to uncover her betrayal. He was   
  
on a mission, and would not be deterred.  
  
  
World Martial Arts Academy  
  
Olivette, Missouri  
  
Monday, December 19  
  
8:25P.M.  
  
  
Serri walked out of the World Martial Arts Academy, rotating her sore   
  
shoulders. If she hurt now, she could imagine what this would feel like in the   
  
morning. She looked off to her right in the parking lot outside the Academy,   
  
trying to spot Abby before she left for the night. She caught sight of the girl   
  
and gave a casual wave; Abby waved back with enthusiasm.  
  
"See you tomorrow?" Abby asked, shouting across the parking lot.  
  
"No," Serri responded in her slightly deeper voice. "But I'll be here   
  
Wednesday, helping out with the kiddie classes, and taking the six o' clock."  
  
"So Mr. Adams can kill us," Abby responded, seemingly cheerful for such a   
  
dire sentence.  
  
"Amen," Serri responded. "Adios," she said with a final wave as she   
  
headed toward her car, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She fished her keys   
  
out of her purse before she reached the car, but paused when she heard a muffled   
  
thump. Serri's head turned to the side as she listened closely; then the loud   
  
obnoxious blaring of a horn nearly made her jump out of her skin.  
  
Heart beating quickly from the surprise, she looked around the nearly   
  
empty parking lot in confusion. She and Abby had been the last to leave beside   
  
their instructor, and his car was darkened, with no movement inside. Her   
  
questioning eyes focused on Abby's car as the horn belted an angry note out   
  
again. The lights were on in Abby's car, and Serri was close enough to see two   
  
people struggling furiously in the front seat.  
  
  
Serri dropped her back and raced the seventy feet over to Abby's car in   
  
record time. Barely pausing to think, she ran around the passenger's side of   
  
the car and yanked open the door. The assailant, male or female she could not   
  
tell, had a hand on Abby's neck, forcing her against the glass window of the car   
  
door. His other hand held a knife. She grabbed his free arm, forced it behind   
  
his back as she had learned in Tae Kwon Do classes, and pressed upward, making   
  
the assailant let out a howl of pain, and release his hold of Abby. Serri   
  
dragged him, or her, out of the car, throwing him down onto the asphalt ground.  
  
  
Now Serri's heart was racing, the assailant was just coming back to his   
  
feet. She kicked him hard in the chest, right below the sternum, knocking him   
  
backward and on the ground again. This time he rolled on his side and backwards   
  
coming to his feet just out of her range. She fell automatically into a   
  
fighting stance, and let her concentration deepen as she focused on the attack.   
  
He came forward, swinging wildly with the knife, coming down over his head,   
  
probably hoping to stab her on the neck or shoulder. She blocked quickly,   
  
grabbing his arm and twisting it until it locked, with his elbow facing the   
  
ground. She swiftly kicked him in the shin, then elbowed him in the neck with a   
  
yell, hoping to disconcert him or break up his focus.   
  
  
The knife fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground. The assailant   
  
punched her in the back with his other hand, striking her directly over her   
  
right kidney. Pain flashed in Serri's back and side, she was grateful she had   
  
managed to weaken him already. He grabbed her around the waist, pinning her   
  
arms to her side. Serri dropped, twisting hard with her shoulders down and to   
  
the left, throwing him over her shoulders and into Abby's car. The assailant   
  
jumped to his feet and ran off, obviously limping, but making good speed.   
  
Suddenly exhausted, Serri managed to stagger around the driver's side of the   
  
car. Her hands shook as she grabbed the door handled and yanked the door open.   
  
Abby fell out and backwards. Serri caught her and fell down on to the parking   
  
lot, trying to keep Abby from hitting the ground with any force. Using her left   
  
hand to get to her feet in a crouching position, she gently pulled Abby the rest   
  
of the way out of the car and laid her gently on the ground.  
  
Abby!" she said, her voice nearly shouting. She tapped her shoulder   
  
briskly. "Abby, can you here me?"  
  
Oh crap," she said out-loud. She quickly leaned over the unconscious   
  
girl, her ear directly over her nose and mouth as she watched the girl's chest   
  
rise and fall. "Thank God," she said with all reverence. She checked the   
  
girl's pulse-fast and somewhat irregular. She got to her feet quickly, and   
  
looked inside the open car door. Sure enough, there was a cell-phone on the   
  
floor, nearly hidden under a mat. She picked it up with trembling hands.  
  
  
"Check the scene for safety," she said sarcastically, "Oh right, Mr. Kasten, I   
  
did that, and perceiving the danger, I dove right in. Gotta love sophomore   
  
heath class." She quickly dialed 911 as she knelt next to the still unconscious   
  
girl.  
  
  
The next moment a voice answered, she quickly interrupted the female   
  
operator. "Yes, I have an emergency, my name is Serri Corazai. Unconscious   
  
victim, she was choked, but she's breathing. Pulse is a bit weird, but I ain't   
  
no doctor. Uh, location. The World Martial Arts Academy on 9715 Olive Street   
  
Rd."  
  
"How long has she been unconscious?" the woman asked.   
  
"No more than ten minutes," Serri replied, for the first time a tremble   
  
appeared in her voice. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, willing any   
  
emotion away, at least for the time being.  
  
"What is the victim's name?" she asked. "And age?"  
  
"Abby Baker, seventeen," Serri replied, feeling her eyes well up with   
  
tears, her hands were still shaking, but she refused to let it show in her   
  
voice.  
  
A few minutes later Serri could here the sirens, first the ambulance   
  
arrived, then three police cars. Numbly Serri answered each of their   
  
questionings. Both her parents and Abby's parent's showed up after that. The   
  
paramedics said Abby would be alright. There would be some bruising, but   
  
nothing permanent.  
  
  
Mulder's apartment  
  
Alexandria, Virginia  
  
Wednesday, December 21  
  
6:55PM  
  
  
"Crap," Mulder said disgustedly as he finally managed to unlock his   
  
apartment door and slip inside. He kicked the door closed behind him, and   
  
flipped on the light switch. Dropping the thick case file on the coffee table,   
  
he headed for the bathroom. Returning with a towel he managed to soak up most   
  
of the water and melted ice which clung to his hair.   
  
"Freezing rain and sleet," he growled to himself. Of course this would   
  
come up just as a new X-Files had presented itself to him. And this one   
  
definitely fit in the weird category. Mulder didn't know if it was supernatural   
  
in origin, but it was definitely weird enough for him to jump when A.D. Skinner   
  
had given him the case. Now his flight to Saint Louis had been canceled. He   
  
had been to the city a few times in his career in the FBI. Apparently Skinner   
  
knew the city well, and had actually looked amused when Mulder was enthusiastic.   
  
Mulder had asked him what was so funny.  
  
"The weather," Skinner had replied, to Mulder's confusion. That hadn't   
  
really meant anything to him then. Now he imagined how much worse the weather   
  
had to be there then here in Washington. Just then his lights flickered and   
  
died on him. Mulder looked off to the side, then shook his head, rising to his   
  
feet, and searched for flashlights and candles. He settled down on his couch,   
  
then took out the case file, squinting at it in the dim light.  
  
Yes, this case did have his complete attention. There had been several   
  
murders in the Greater Saint Louis Area. Each had been different, killed in a   
  
variety of different ways. One had been shot, one impaled with a crow bar, one   
  
brutally and repeatedly stabbed, and one simply had the crap beat out of him.   
  
The crime scene photos of that last one had been particularly brutal. Whoever   
  
the assailant had been, had managed to draw out the person's death in one of the   
  
most painful ways possible. Maximum pain, but minimum injury, until of course,   
  
he killed her.   
  
Two could be truly labeled as X-Files. One seemed as if the victim had   
  
died of old age, his body just having been run down. However, the victim had   
  
been a twenty-two year old basketball player for Saint Louis University-not   
  
exactly an old man. The next was one of Mulder's frequently recurring cases   
  
that never seemed to turn out how they were presented. Spontaneous Human   
  
Combustion-but this time it seemed like the real deal. The lab and the   
  
coroner's office had gone over the scene several times. There had been nothing   
  
to act as an accelerant, no matches, no lighters; the clothes the victim had   
  
been wearing were less than conducive for burning. It had been raining the   
  
entire night of the murder, and the man had been found in Forest Park. From   
  
what the crime scene revealed, he had been killed in the park, not moved from   
  
another location.  
  
Mulder leaned back, then leaned forward again. The cases weren't   
  
connected, or at least, they hadn't appeared to be. The only thing that linked   
  
them was the lack of evidence and the lack of a signature or modus operandi.   
  
Skinner wanted him to offer his expertise on the two possible X-Files, but   
  
Mulder wanted to review the other cases as well. Even for a city with a high   
  
crime rate like St. Louis, this was odd. Perhaps it was a single killer, or   
  
perhaps two working in tandem. Mulder didn't know yet. His first priority   
  
would be the two X-Files.  
  
Just as he pulled out the file folder for the man who had been burned   
  
alive, the telephone rang. Mulder reached out to pick it up.  
  
"Hello?" he asked, his voice distracted as he held up a photo of the wizened dead man.  
  
"Mulder," the familiar voice on the other line said somewhat tiredly. "It's me."  
  
Mulder smiled, putting down the photos and giving Scully his entire attention for the moment. "Hey, Scully," he said cheerfully. "How was your flight?"  
  
"Terrible," she answered, a touch shortly. "Wind turbulence all the way."  
  
Mulder winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at the window as   
  
a flash of lightning procured a low rumble of thunder. "Here's a terribly   
  
mundane question, how's the weather? It sucks here. I'm sitting where trying   
  
to review the case Skinner gave me and the power just went out about fifteen   
  
minutes ago. Do you think my landlord will be angry if I burn down the   
  
apartment complex from overuse of candles? It's slightly different than the   
  
last flood disaster."  
  
This time Scully actually chuckled aloud. "It's nice here," she said.   
  
"I'm glad I took the early flight if its storming now."  
  
"Ice, too," Mulder said, his tone a bit mournful. He changed his tone.   
  
"So how goes it for the Scully Family Reunion?" he asked, his tone not   
  
mocking in the least.  
  
"Pray for me," Scully said as Mulder grinned. "The typical Christmas   
  
chaos. So, what's the case?"  
  
"Two actually," Mulder said, reaching for the report and laying it on his   
  
lap. He leaned his elbow on his knee as his voice became slightly more   
  
distracted. "Um, one twenty-two year old dies of old age after playing an all-  
  
star game of basketball for St. Louis University. And another guy goes up into   
  
flame. One of your personal favorites, Spontaneous Human Combustion." Mulder   
  
paused, reflecting. "You know, in light of most of our cases, they really   
  
should change the name from 'Spontaneous Human Combustion' to 'Carefully   
  
Contrived Human Combustion'."  
  
"Maybe you should suggest that to the person who coined that phrase,   
  
Mulder," Scully said with amusement Mulder could here easily through the phone.   
  
"Any evidence?"  
  
"Nada," Mulder replied. "There's no connection between the murders,   
  
either. And there has also been about five or six unsolved murders in St. Louis   
  
in the last couple of years. One of those cases which start with no leads and   
  
end with those, too. That itself could be a pattern." Mulder stared at the   
  
pictures of the victims again, letting his mind absorb them, hoping to come up   
  
with something.   
  
"Mulder?" Scully asked through the phone.  
  
"Nothing, Scully," Mulder said quietly. "There is something similar about   
  
whoever's killing these people."  
  
"What's that?" Scully asked, her voice holding the slightest touch of wariness.  
  
"Rage," Mulder said, his voice soft and reflective. "terrible, consuming   
  
rage. He kills because in his mind he has to. Something about these people   
  
really ticked this guy off."  
  
"So you do think they're connected," Scully said.   
  
"Maybe," Mulder repeated. "Or this could just be something the murders   
  
have in common. If it wasn't premeditated, then rage is common. And the way   
  
the rest of the victims were killed? All very hostile, but that doesn't prove   
  
they were connected. So I have to act under the assumption they were not."  
  
"Good luck," Scully said. "Uh, I have to go. Dinner is in an hour or so,   
  
and I have to help out."  
  
Mulder smiled. "Get to work, Scully," he said teasingly. "Have a nice   
  
vacation."  
  
"Thanks, Mulder," she replied, then was gone.  
  
Lambert International Airport  
  
St. Louis, Missouri  
  
Friday, December 23  
  
3:55PM  
  
Mulder walked outside of the airport into what he expected to be cold,   
  
windy, December weather in the Midwest. Instead, he walked outside, into the   
  
top floor of the parking garage. Mulder quickly shrugged off his coat, sweat   
  
was already gathering on his forehead. It had to be at least seventy-five   
  
degrees outside, with an impossibly warm breeze. This is insane, he thought to   
  
himself, its nearly Christmas, and its some kind of Indian Summer out here.   
  
Mulder stared at the bright, beautiful blue sky and shrugged it off. He wasn't   
  
one to complain about nice weather.  
  
"Special Agent Mulder?" a man asked, approaching from Mulder's right.   
  
Mulder turned, squinting in the sunlight to face the tall, older man approaching   
  
him.  
  
"Detective Miller?" Mulder asked in realization as he reached out to   
  
shake the other man's hand. He had dark gray eyes and short, salt and pepper   
  
hair. His strong angular features bespoke of character and quiet patience, and   
  
Mulder found himself immediately liking the man-something that didn't happen all   
  
that often.  
  
"That's me," the man said in a warm, mid-range voice. He gestured for   
  
Mulder to walk with him. "I'll drop you off at the rental agency-this one's a   
  
bit away from the airport and won't be as crowded. Hotel's smack dab in the   
  
middle of downtown, and we don't have much of downtown-you know the way to the   
  
Marriott?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Mulder responded. "Anything turn up on any of the cases?"  
  
"Nothing," Detective Miller admitted. "They're doing the autopsy of the   
  
latest victim this afternoon."  
  
Mulder slid into the passenger's seat of the navy blue car. "Latest   
  
victim?" he asked, surprised.  
  
  
"Yeah, we found another one, this one we know has a connection to an   
  
attempted murder earlier this week, if not to any of the other murders. But it   
  
is slightly . . . odd."  
  
Mulder felt his heartbeat increase as he focused on the detective's words   
  
with interest. "Odd in what sense?" Mulder asked, not bothering to shield his   
  
curiosity.  
  
"Conflicting stories," Detective Miller said with a quiet side. "The girl   
  
that was attacked, Abby Baker, says a guy was in her car and had a kind of piece   
  
of sharpened wood, a stake of some sort, and tried to stab her with it. The   
  
victim we found this morning had been impaled with some kind of wooden object   
  
through the heart."  
  
"Another victim was impaled," Mulder noted. "Accept that was with a   
  
crowbar through the abdomen."  
  
"Right," the detective said. Mulder noticed his knuckles were white on   
  
the steering wheel. "However, the more reliable of the witnesses, one Serri   
  
Corazai, said the man had a knife. "Ms. Baker also claimed to be able to   
  
describe the physical features of the attacker."  
  
"You had a positive I.D.?" Mulder nearly exclaimed, he sat up straighter   
  
in his seat.  
  
Detective Miller slowly shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "Serri   
  
told us the man had been wearing a ski-mask. Ms. Baker shouldn't have been able   
  
to see anything."  
  
"You know one of the witnesses?" Mulder asked, noting the first name   
  
usage.  
  
"Yes," the detective answered. "She and her sister were very good friends   
  
of my daughter, Anne. I knew both of them, reliable, extremely reliable. Both   
  
had good reputations among teachers and adults at the school and outside of   
  
school-not an easy thing to accomplish as a teenager."  
  
"No," Mulder admitted, he smiled slightly. "I sure didn't have one."  
  
"Me either," the Detective said, flashing a quick grin as well.  
  
"Hey," Mulder said. "Let's say I find my hotel later, let's go down to   
  
the morgue and see if they have any new information about what has happened."  
  
The detective shot him a grateful look. "Thanks. I am going to tell you a   
  
couple of things. Everyone working the force thinks these murders are related.   
  
I don't know, its just a feeling. We can't prove anything though."  
  
"The evidence of the connection is in the lack of evidence," Mulder   
  
muttered as he stared blindly out the car window."  
  
"Exactly," the detective affirmed. His voice lowered to an intensity that   
  
made Mulder look over at him. "Whether or not its one guy, this has to stop,   
  
its tearing families a part." Detective Miller took in a deep breath, and   
  
Mulder could see the pain in his eyes. "My daughter Anne was murdered last year   
  
in a drive-by-they never caught the man who did it. No one else should have to   
  
suffer the way we did, never knowing."  
  
Mulder nodded, he couldn't agree more with Detective Miller.  
  
They pulled up in a small parking lot to the city morgue and quickly entered in   
  
the single door. Down the hall and inside was a coroner's office like any other   
  
Mulder had been inside. He knew them particularly well because of Scully's   
  
expertise as a pathologist.  
  
"The doctor's already started," Detective Miller said as the two entered   
  
through the door. Mulder's hazel eyes swept over everything in the room and   
  
rested on the corpse. It was a tall, African-American man in his early   
  
twenties. Mulder quickly swept over any connections to the earlier victim. An   
  
oozing hole in his chest was painfully visible, as was the mangled necklace the   
  
victim wore. Mulder took a step closer to the annoyance of the pathologist who   
  
was just logging the case number. He barely made out the twisted remnants of a   
  
cross, one similar to the small gold one Scully wore. Judeo-Christian   
  
background, Mulder reflected. That is one similarity between the relativity   
  
unconnected assortments of victims. That had been offered as a connection,   
  
perhaps the killings were hate crimes. That however, hadn't fit the profile.   
  
Hate crimes simply weren't this intelligent or well executed. The idiots that   
  
committed those often bragged of their deeds in order to gain 'recognition for   
  
the cause' or other such idiocy.  
  
Mulder strode around the end of the autopsy bed, his eyes still on the   
  
victims. He didn't want to stay for the entire thing, simply because he didn't   
  
have Scully's nerves in this area-he'd be puking up his guts if he had to weigh   
  
someone's intestines in what looked like one of those scales that measured fruit   
  
in the grocery store.  
  
A gleam of light caught Mulder's eyes, and he turned, fixing his eyes on   
  
the back of the victim's head. He had no hair, so it was relatively easy for   
  
Mulder to pick out what he was looking for. He crouched down until the man's   
  
head was level with Mulder's eyes. A smattering of gold ink was arrayed in what   
  
looked like a symbol.  
  
"Excuse me," Mulder said, loudly interrupting the pathologist. "Did you   
  
see this?"  
  
The woman sighed loudly, and came around to look where Mulder pointed, she   
  
turned, reached out to the tray and picked up a magnifying glass. Holding it in   
  
front of the victims head, Mulder could just make out the symbol, it was omega,   
  
the last letter of the Greek alphabet.  
  
"Omega," Mulder said out-loud. The symbol was so small it could have been   
  
overlooked.  
  
"What?" the detective asked, he appeared shaken.   
  
"Omega," Mulder said, "the last letter of-"  
  
"-the Greek alphabet, I know," the detective finished. He quickly walked   
  
over to the agent's side. "You found it on the back of his head?"  
  
"Yes," Mulder said slowly. "Why?"  
  
"Because Anne had a mark like that, too," the detective said slowly.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Title: Illusions  
  
Author's note: Part two of however many. And in one of these parts, yes,   
  
Scully will actually do something . . . but not right now. You'll see. Just   
  
read.  
  
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. Sob.   
  
Chapter 2  
  
Balboa Park  
  
San Diego, California  
  
Same Day  
  
6:00PM  
  
"Watch out," Scully nearly bellowed, reaching over, and grabbing the   
  
pitcher before it spilled over the ground. She grinned as her nephew, Matt,   
  
turned and gave her a swift grin of apology as he chased his other cousin,   
  
Thirissa through the open fields.  
  
"I say we have an old-fashioned game of baseball," Bill said, thumping a   
  
bat against the ball stubbornly. Cheers were met from the younger generation as   
  
Scully grinned as she sat down next to her mother and Tara.  
  
Charles quickly stood up, "I second it," he grinned wickedly. "Come on, Bill,   
  
let's divide the teams."  
  
Scully watched as her brothers, normally serious, quiet men turned absolutely   
  
silly at the prospect of playing baseball. She remembered Mulder's words on the   
  
subject, claiming that the 'box scores spoke to him', as he earnestly tried to   
  
convince her of baseball's importance. She felt her smile widen as she recalled   
  
him teaching her the finer points of the game, and then insisting that she   
  
practice as well. Which, of course, she had.  
  
"Uneven teams," Charles said, wrinkling his brow. "Well, I suppose I could   
  
pitch for both . . . ."   
  
"I'll play," Scully spoke up, standing up, smiling shamelessly as both her   
  
brother's turned toward her with nearly identical looks of skepticism on their   
  
faces.  
  
"Dana, do you even know how to play?" Bill asked her.  
  
"Of course," she shot back, silently thanking her partner, she'd owed him   
  
one. Who'd ever think this would come in handy? She liked seeing that   
  
surprised look on Bill's face, even more so when he figured out she was pretty   
  
good.  
  
Scully's team was up for bat first, it was her and Charles on one team   
  
with some of the cousins versus Bill and Jim, a friend of his from work. The   
  
one he had undoubtedly brought to set her up with. Right now, Scully didn't   
  
care, she was going to play baseball.  
  
When it was her turn to bat, she took a couple of experimental swings,   
  
surprised at how nervous she was. She had never been nervous when Mulder was   
  
there, however Mulder was so silly at times that it simply wasn't possible for   
  
her to be nervous. Or maybe he had done that on purpose to put her at ease.  
  
"Hips before hands," she murmured as she stepped up to the 'plate'. She   
  
kept her eyes firmly on Bill as he wound up for the slow pitch, then released.   
  
At precisely the right moment, she twisted her hips and swung, connecting hard   
  
with the ball on the first swing. The resounding crack put a grin on her face   
  
as she raced to first, then second base. Bill turned to look at her in   
  
amazement.   
  
"Told you I could play," Scully said defiantly from where she stood. She   
  
laughed a moment later at her own immaturity.  
  
St. Louis Police Department  
  
Downtown, St. Louis  
  
Same Day  
  
"Reports just came back," Detective Miller said, dropping several piles   
  
with photographs. "To of the last three murders had the symbol right to the   
  
back of the head, in the same location as the victim this afternoon."  
  
"You have imaging software, is that correct?" Mulder asked, rising to his   
  
feet.  
  
"Right."  
  
"Can you pull up all the unsolved murders in the last three years with the   
  
same lack of murder weapon and evidence. Confine the search parameters to   
  
victims with a Judeo-Christian background and ages 10-50."  
  
"That's still a lot," Detective Miller said skeptically. "This is going   
  
to take a while."  
  
"Mind if I give you a hand, then?" a familiar female voice said from   
  
behind Mulder. He turned, meeting the gaze of one Special Agent Elizabeth   
  
Drazen. Mulder didn't bother to stop the grin from spreading across his   
  
features. He instantly went over and shook the agent's hand. Although younger   
  
than Mulder by four years, Agent Drazen had been in his class at Quantico. She   
  
was a street agent, but with an aptitude similar to the one Mulder was gifted   
  
at. She had an uncanny ability to 'read' the emotional condition of victims and   
  
attackers. Of course, the fact that she didn't automatically dismiss the X-  
  
Files as a pile of crap put her firmly in Mulder's good graces. She wasn't   
  
exactly a believer, but she was willing to listen to almost anything. After   
  
Scully's abduction, Assistant Director Skinner had considered her for Scully's   
  
replacement, interestingly enough.  
  
"Special Agent Drazen, this is Special Agent Mulder from D.C.-" Detective   
  
Miller began.  
  
"We've met, Detective," Drazen said in her clear voice. She was mid-  
  
height; around five feet nine inches with clear light brown eyes and skin of a   
  
light brown sugar obviously bespoke a mixed heritage. Her face didn't   
  
communicate much emotion, but her eyes indeed were the window into her soul.   
  
She had a muscular rather than slim build, and an impressive demeanor. Right   
  
now she was dressed in street clothes, blue jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with   
  
a brown leather jacket. "Rumor has it, you found the signature, Mulder."  
  
"Wait a minute, Elizabeth," Mulder said. "What are you doing down in St.   
  
Louis? I thought you were in assignment in D.C."  
  
"I am, kind of," she grimaced. "Except for three GSWs kind of put me on   
  
restricted duty, so I came back home."  
  
"What the hell were you doing?" Mulder asked, mildly horrified.   
  
"My job," she shot back without anger. "Some people don't take too kindly to   
  
that, though. So, signature."  
  
Mulder nodded. "Omega symbol, in the back of the head. We're about to   
  
run some picture analysis. Wanna help?"  
  
"Sure," she replied. The detective led them into a smaller room where another   
  
cop sat at a computer, playing with an autopsy picture on his computer.  
  
"There," the man in blue said, tapping the screen. He enlarged the small   
  
section quickly. Mulder could make out the symbol, imprinted in the same gold   
  
ink." He turned to Elizabeth, who stared at the screen with a furrowed brow.  
  
"I'm thinkin' he placed the symbol there to signify execution," Mulder said.   
  
"The Omega symbol having religious significance with the Christian background,   
  
if not Jewish. He was not just killing them, but trying to kill some part of   
  
them."  
  
Elizabeth nodded. "'I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending,   
  
saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.'   
  
Omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet. Traditionally it implies an   
  
ending. This ending being the victims lives." She walked closer to the screen.   
  
"Its almost as if he used the symbol for . . . irony."  
  
"Irony," Detective Miller said slowly.  
  
"Think about it," she continued, her voice growing more animated. "Most   
  
Christians and Jews believe the soul lives on forever-whether one is in heaven   
  
or hell. The killer is saying that it is the end."  
  
"He's mocking their beliefs," Mulder said, feeling something else click. "There   
  
has to be another connection. How did he know about their beliefs? They were   
  
from different parts of the city, of different religious denominations. How   
  
does he know who these people or what they believe?"  
  
"And, for that matter, how did he kill them?" Elizabeth asked. "We need a list   
  
of everyone who has that mark. There has to be another connection between the   
  
victims, maybe a hobby of their or something."  
  
"I've got a partial list," Detective Miller said. He swallowed, "Starting with   
  
Anne. I can give you a list of her closer friends, if you want to talk with   
  
them. It is Christmas Vacation, though, a lot of the kids and their families   
  
are going to be out of town."  
  
"They probably have a different perspective," Elizabeth said, probably more   
  
tactfully than Mulder would have. "That will have to wait until tomorrow. See   
  
if we can get the kids together, that way they won't be as frightened."  
  
"What about the girl who was recently attacked?" Mulder asked. "I can't help   
  
but think that was connected."  
  
"Abby Baker-I have the address if you want to go check them out," Detective   
  
Miller said.  
  
Mulder looked to Elizabeth. "If you're feeling up to it, Agent Drazen."  
  
She snorted, "Yeah, right, try and stop me. That girl goes to the do-jang   
  
I used to attend. I still know a few of the teachers and instructors, no way   
  
I'm sitting this one out."   
  
•••  
  
Scully Residence  
  
San Diego, California  
  
10:15PM  
  
Scully sat cross-legged on her bed in the guestroom of her brother's   
  
house, contemplating whether or not to call her partner. She wanted to know how   
  
the case was going, but also she didn't want to disturb him if he was sleeping.   
  
She smiled as she reached into her bag for her cell-phone, Mulder probably   
  
wouldn't sleep until his second day in St. Louis, he was probably still wired   
  
from the flight.  
  
"Dana?" her mother's voice came from the doorway.  
  
"Yes, mom," she said. "Come in."  
  
Her mother came in the doorway, and Scully smiled at her. She sat down on the   
  
bed with a serious expression on her face. Then she smiled at Scully. "I'm   
  
glad to see you so happy, I haven't seen you this way for a long time."  
  
Scully's smile faded slightly as she considered this. It was true, ever since   
  
she had figured out she couldn't ever have children; she had been slightly   
  
depressed. But lately . . . she had felt content, an emotion that had rarely   
  
been with her in her lifetime. She enjoyed her work, her friendship with   
  
Mulder-what more could she ask for? Ever since she had seen whatever that   
  
vision had been in that shrine she had felt more at peace.  
  
"I've felt content lately," Scully said, speaking honestly to her mother. She   
  
sighed, noting Bill's presence in the doorway, and hesitated. Finally, she   
  
plunged forward, deciding that what he thought didn't really matter, she knew   
  
the truth and her mother would believe her. "I saw something . . . not too long   
  
ago. I guess now I am beginning to understand it." Scully lapsed into silence   
  
for a moment.  
  
"What did you see?" Bill asked, only a hint of skepticism evident in her voice.  
  
"I suppose you could call it a vision," Scully said. "I walked inside this   
  
temple, and I saw everything I had done in the past nine or ten years. But with   
  
that, I felt a certain peace, I guess I understand what Melissa was trying to   
  
tell me right before I decided to join the Bureau."  
  
"What did she say to you?" her mother asked.  
  
"That life wasn't about a job, or what I did, but the people I met along the   
  
way," Scully, feeling a genuine smile creep unto her features. "I think she was   
  
right. I know she was right."   
  
Bill shook his head. "What are you saying, that you were meant to meet that   
  
crazy partner of yours?" He asked sarcastically. "To go hunt little green men?"  
  
Scully felt the slightest flash of anger, but that's what Bill wanted. "Gray,"   
  
she replied innocently, not bothering to hide the fact she was teasing him.   
  
Even her mother smiled in amusement. "I believe the skin tone is more gray."  
  
Her brother shook his head, then left her room, leaving Scully to sigh with   
  
quiet relief. She sat silently with her mother for a moment. "Was there   
  
something else, Mom?" Scully asked after a few moments of comfortable silence.  
  
"Only one thing," she said with a smile. "When did you learn how to play   
  
baseball?"  
  
Scully smiled to herself. "Mulder taught me last year, he couldn't believe I   
  
didn't know how to play, said it was pivotal that I learn."  
  
"He did a good job," her mother said as she left the room.  
  
Scully sat for a few moments, then hit the speed-dial button for her partner's   
  
cell phone. It rang once, then the familiar voice of her partner touched her   
  
ears.   
  
"Mulder," he said no hint of weariness in his voice, despite the late time.  
  
"Mulder, its' me," Scully responded. "Isn't a little late, especially for D.C.   
  
time?"  
  
"Then why'd you call?" Mulder asked, a hint of wry amusement in his voice.  
  
"Because I know you'd be up," Scully retorted. "How's it going?"  
  
"We found something," Mulder said, his voice taking on an edge of excitement.   
  
"An Omega symbol on the back of each of the victims' heads. We've traced the   
  
signature back to ten murders over the past three years. The same guy did the   
  
two cases we thought were X-Files as the other ones."  
  
"Oh," Scully said, taken back in surprise, "you've gotten a lot done for   
  
only having been there a few hours. Have you got the connection, yet?"  
  
"Maybe," Mulder said. "Or partially. We know he's attacking Judeo-Christians-  
  
and Elizabeth thinks the Omega symbol is ridicule aimed toward Christian   
  
beliefs. An ending where there is no ending."  
  
"Who?" Scully asked, mildly surprised. She hadn't known Mulder was working with   
  
another agent from the Bureau. Not many field agents like working an X-File,   
  
anyway, not with the reputation associated with them and the two agents running   
  
them.  
  
"Special Agent Elizabeth Drazen," Mulder said, a hint of a smile amused in his   
  
voice. "Not quite skeptical, not quite a believer." His voice lapsed into a   
  
thoughtful silence. "But she's an all around good person."  
  
Scully nodded, she recalled the agent. "The graphologist? She had degrees in   
  
psychology and law?"  
  
"Still does," Mulder replied. "We were in the same class at Quantico, you know her?"  
  
"Mostly by reputation as a street agent within the Bureau," Scully said. "She   
  
taught at Quantico for a little while, the same time I was there."  
  
"Were you teaching or a student?" Mulder asked.   
  
"Actually, both," Scully said. "She taught some of the advanced self-defense   
  
classes. I think she had a black belt in Jujitsu and Tae Kwon Do."   
  
"I've worked with her a little before, we get along pretty good," Mulder said.   
  
He paused, and Scully could almost predict his next words. "That, in and of   
  
itself, is pretty amazing. So, Scully, any thoughts? Any wisdom you'd like to   
  
give me for this case? Have you got it solved already?"  
  
"Get some sleep, Mulder," Scully said. "That's my advise to you as a doctor,   
  
and as a friend."  
  
"Yeah," Mulder said, seriousness returning to his voice. "We have to talk   
  
to the friends and families of some of the victims tomorrow."  
  
Scully stalled a moment. "Good luck," she said finally, feeling as if the words   
  
didn't quite mean enough."  
  
"Yeah," Mulder replied. "Talk to you later."  
  
  
  
Rosati-Kain High School  
  
Central West End  
  
Friday, December 23  
  
"Does it seem wrong to you that we are in school, especially on our   
  
vacation?" Serri asked Hester and Arí as she dropped down in the second seat in   
  
the third row of the American History room. "There is something deeply   
  
disturbing about all of this." Arí just smiled.  
  
"Yeah," Hester said, looking from watching several of their classmates and   
  
friends to Serri. "Especially considering the subject matter. Hey, listen to   
  
this."  
  
"What?" Serri said, letting wariness creep into her voice. Hester had a slight   
  
grin on her features-she was about to make a very bad joke, Serri knew it. She   
  
exchanged glances with Arí. "Brace yourself," she told Arí in a stage whisper.  
  
Hester didn't let her down. "Lincoln was at the theater, seeing a really boring   
  
play with his wife. About halfway through it he leaned back in his chairs and   
  
looked up to heaven in supplication." Hester fought a grin, about to deliver   
  
the punch line. "He said, 'Somebody shoot me!'"  
  
Serri stared at Hester in horror, trying to fight the laughter and failing.   
  
"That's horrible! One of those things you don't want to laugh at, but have no   
  
choice. That is, if you have my somewhat deranged sense of humor," she managed   
  
to choke out. Then she grinned, "that's almost as bad as Mr. O'Kieffe's pun   
  
about where he was sitting."  
  
"That's bad," Arí said, shaking her head while laughing. "That's really bad."  
  
"Pretty damn funny, though," Hester said, still with a small, devilish grin on   
  
her lips. "What was Mr. O'Kieffe's joke?"  
  
"Pun," Serri corrected. "President Lincoln went to Ford's Theater to see a   
  
play, 'Our American Cousin', if I'm not mistaken, a comic melodrama. I would   
  
say he was seated in a 'booth', but for tactful purposes, we'll say he was on   
  
the balcony."  
  
Hester shook her head slowly, grinning slightly. "That's pretty bad."  
  
"I know," Serri replied.  
  
"Worse than mine," Hester commented.  
  
"Most definitely," Serri concluded. Another classmate entered the history room;   
  
it was Cyn. "Yo," Serri said in her customary greeting.  
  
Cyn sat down to Hester's right. "Hey Serri, Hester, Arí," Cyn said. She was   
  
not her upbeat, normally hyper self. Now she looked disturbed. "I want to know   
  
what's going on."  
  
Arí echoed her sentiments. "This is probably something serious. That's   
  
Detective Miller-this isn't something like a guy trespassing on the property   
  
again."  
  
"Or the flasher," Hester added helpfully, gathering looks from Arí and Serri.   
  
"Or the crazy guy who circles the block blowing his horn."  
  
"Somehow I think it's a little more serious than that," Cyn said, an edge to her   
  
voice. Serri caught her eye, but said nothing. Cyn looked away after a moment-  
  
that much was slightly disturbing.  
  
"Yeah," Serri said sobering a bit. She caught her twin's eye and gestured   
  
for her to sit down in the desk next to her. "What's the deal, cops want to   
  
talk with us again? They said it was about Anne."  
  
"Bigger," Jenna said, leaning over and speaking with a drawl. "The FBI."  
  
"What's the FBI got to do with this?" Serri asked, her voice mildly   
  
confrontational. "Isn't this out of their jurisdiction? I mean, it was a   
  
drive-by. Not exactly a federal case. No crossing state lines, and I don't   
  
think the guy that did it was convicted for mail fraud," she said, more than a   
  
hint of sarcasm in her voice.  
  
"But look, Detective Miller's here, too," Hester pointed out. "Those have   
  
got to be the agents." Serri followed Hester's gaze to two figures that walked   
  
in the room, stopping to talk with the principle as well as with Detective   
  
Miller. A woman and a man. The guy was in a nice suit, he was tall, around six   
  
feet in height, with short, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Not exactly hard to   
  
look at from Serri's point of view, and he had a serious, intense expression on   
  
his features. The woman was about three inches taller than Serri, with dark   
  
features, of some kind of Hispanic and African American decent.  
  
"Ooh, check out the hottie," Hester said, murmuring under her breath, her   
  
eyes were glued firmly on the male FBI agent.  
  
Serri cast her a skeptical look. "He's old enough to be your father,   
  
Hester," she said, not bothering to disguise her tone.   
  
"But he's not," Hester said with a grin that Serri easily recognized.   
  
Serri rolled her eyes, then turned her attention to watching the two agents and   
  
Detective Miller. All three of them spoke with some amount of deference to each   
  
other, that was good. Serri liked and respected Detective Miller-especially   
  
noting his strength after Anne's death. If the two agents had his respect, this   
  
probably would go okay.  
  
"Ten to one they're idiots," Jenna said, not bothering to lower her voice   
  
much. Both Serri and Hester turned to face her with nearly identical   
  
expressions of incredulity.   
  
"Why do you say that?" Serri asked mildly shocked but not surprised by   
  
her sister's statement. "Gee, way to not be judgmental."  
  
"It took them a freakin' year to get on the stupid case," Jenna argued.   
  
"The case is cold by now, why bother?"  
  
"That's probably what they're going to tell us," Hester said, a hint of   
  
condensation in her voice.  
  
"Detective Miller is working with them," Serri said. "And as you say,   
  
'everybody hates the FBI', especially the local PD."   
  
"Whatever," her sister replied.  
  
"Girls, if we can have your attention for a moment, these people would like to   
  
speak with you for a few moments," their principle said. She stepped backed as   
  
Detective Miller leaned against the chalkboard in the front of the room. Serri   
  
cast a quick gaze around the room, hiding her inward nervousness with an   
  
impassive visage. Lauren, Abby, Katie, Hester, Bonnie, Jenna, Arí, and Cyn were   
  
all there, waiting for Detective Miller to speak.  
  
He didn't waste anytime. "This is Special Agent Mulder and Special Agent Drazen   
  
from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, they are going to ask you a few   
  
questions, about Anne, and also about Abby Baker." The female agent leaned   
  
against the wall, while the male grabbed a chair, then dropped into it, as if   
  
coming down to be on the same level as the students.  
  
Serri was surprised at how hard that hit. She took in a deliberate breath,   
  
trying to dispel most of her emotions-it didn't work very well. It was easier   
  
to concentrate on legal matters. Like jurisdiction and why the FBI were   
  
involved. Sarcasm worked too, it distanced herself from the reality of Anne's   
  
murder and the seriousness of Abby's attack.  
  
"Abby Baker?" Lauren asked, shooting her classmate, Abby, a look. "Who's Abby   
  
Baker?"  
  
"A girl at our do-jang," Serri replied, then looked first at the detective, then   
  
at the two agents. "But I don't see how the two are connected."  
  
"They may not be," Special Agent Drazen said from her position leaning against the wall. "That's what we want to find out."  
  
"Here's a question," Serri said, not bothering to contemplate the fact that   
  
quite possibly she was being very rude. "What are you doing here? How is   
  
Abby's attack a federal case? or Anne's? You have no jurisdiction."  
  
Serri caught Hester shaking her head in disbelief and disapproval. "Only you,"   
  
the girl muttered under her breath. "Or her," she said gesturing with her head   
  
towards Jenna. A couple of girls laughed in disbelief.  
  
Agent Mulder looked at her, then turned toward his partner (?) with a raise of   
  
the eyebrow. "What do you know about federal jurisdiction?" he asked, his tone   
  
a bit dry.  
  
"Enough to know that this is a local matter," Serri said, letting her voice take   
  
on an equally dry and slightly challenging tone. "In order for the feds to get   
  
involved, the trail of murders, robberies, or other crimes have to cross a state   
  
border. Unless of course, it has to do with the postal service or some other   
  
delegated power. Which this does not, so the police had to have called you in,   
  
which is highly unusual in and of itself." Arí was looking at her, Serri   
  
glanced over to her, found a measure of wariness in her gaze and backed off a   
  
bit.  
  
"Someone actually paid attention in history class," Jenna offered dryly and   
  
loudly enough for the agents to hear.  
  
"We were called in because of the unusual nature of two cases," Agent Mulder   
  
said, almost as if amused. His voice quickly lost that quality. "But then we   
  
discovered a connection between the victims." Which, Serri thought, If they   
  
have any intelligence at all, they won't tell us or the press. That way no fear   
  
of a copycat.  
  
"Which you ain't gonna tell us," Jenna said in a light drawl, echoing Serri's   
  
thoughts exactly. She had a tendency to do that, to try to make people   
  
underestimate her. Then, or course, for their crime, she kicked them in the   
  
rear for it. Jenna also happened to be the resident expert on the FBI . . .   
  
which they didn't know. She would know if they were doing anything they weren't   
  
supposed to be doing, asking the right questions, etc. Wow, Serri thought   
  
cynically to herself, you are truly paranoid.  
  
"That's right," Agent Drazen said with amusement. "We aren't, but that is   
  
unimportant." She stood up straight and took a step forward, piercing each of   
  
them with an intense gaze. "What is, is this: there has been a string of   
  
murders, lasting over the past three years, all connected, most likely done by   
  
one man. We don't know how he is targeting his victims, and any information   
  
would be helpful."  
  
  
(((  
  
"This guy has killed ten people that we know about," Mulder added, fixing first   
  
the girl with the lawyer's mindset and the young woman sitting next to her.   
  
They seemed to play off each other well, but Mulder hoped they would stop. He   
  
normally lauded inquisitiveness and respected the critical eye, but they didn't   
  
have time to gradually earn their trust or respect. He silently pleaded for   
  
their cooperation.  
  
Apparently, the lawyer heard his silent plea, or he had passed her test. She   
  
exchanged glances with her friend, and gazed back at them with a nod. "What do   
  
you want to know?"  
  
Thank you, Mulder said silently. "Can you think of anything the two young women   
  
had in common?" he asked. "And please tell me your names."  
  
"My name is Jenna," the girl in the front row said. She had extremely short   
  
dark brown hair, glasses, and barely noticeable braces. She was slumped back in   
  
her chair with her arms folded across her chest, suggesting skepticism or   
  
defiance, or both. "They both liked the martial arts," she added. "Anne was   
  
gonna start taking lessons soon. They've only met like once, though."  
  
"Exactly once," the girl next to her added softly. She also had glasses, but   
  
longer, curly brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. An interesting streak of   
  
white reached all the way back the length of her hair-odd, she didn't seem the   
  
type to dye her hair. Mulder had a hard time figuring that she'd care enough to   
  
do it. He watched as she cast a glance to a girl sitting next to her with her   
  
head down, face hidden by her hair, and arms folded tightly across her stomach.   
  
She looked back to Mulder finally. "At Friendship Week at the do-jang. But   
  
they didn't even take the class together, Abby left."  
  
Mulder noticed that some of the girls were beginning to crack, a couple were   
  
crying softly, and the ones that weren't looked angry or withdrawn. Serri had a   
  
single fist clenched, and he could see that her knuckles were paler there than   
  
anywhere else on her hands.  
  
"Sarcasm and playing devil's advocate is more fun," Serri stated clearly, as if   
  
reading Mulder's mind. He was briefly startled. "It's easier than actually   
  
thinking about the matter at hand." Two other girls nodded, almost as if an   
  
afterthought.  
  
"Yeah, buddy," Jenna agreed sarcastically. "Creative writing, they both wrote.   
  
Mostly short stories-just as a hobby, nothing really serious."  
  
"What do you mean serious?" Agent Drazen asked.  
  
"She means not having written ninety stories. Not writing in the morning,   
  
writing in the evening, or writing 'till the sun goes down," Serri replied with   
  
a trace of tangible amusement. "In Jenna's world, not a true author."  
  
"Are you two related?" Agent Drazen asked. "Cousins or something?"  
  
"Try twins," Serri responded. Mulder just barely hid his disbelief. Only their   
  
interactions gave any indications that they were siblings-the two didn't look   
  
particularly related.  
  
"Obviously not identical," Jenna added.  
  
"No stuff, Sherlock," Serri shot back.  
  
"And just when you we're thinking they were intelligent," the tall young woman   
  
behind them said. She had a smattering of freckles, and glasses also with   
  
auburn hair. Her comment caused both of them to turn and look at her with   
  
identical raised eyebrows.  
  
"I think we are a bit off topic," Serri added. "What do you guys think?   
  
Lauren? Katie?"  
  
"Anne played basketball a lot, and she was into science fiction and fantasy,"   
  
Lauren said, her voice quiet and almost detached.  
  
"Yeah, we were on a CYC team," Katie added. "She was a guard." A couple of the   
  
girls started to cry, and Mulder cast a glance at Elizabeth who quickly nodded.   
  
There wasn't much here, not really much of a visible connection. Perhaps the   
  
two weren't connected after all.  
  
Mulder stood up, pulling a card out of his pocket and handing it to Serri, who   
  
took it with a cursory glance at the contents, then handed it without looking to   
  
her sister. "Add it to your collection," she suggested, the hint of dryness   
  
still evident in her voice.  
  
"We left the number with the school," Elizabeth added. "Please contact   
  
Detective Miller if you think of anything else. We'll be in touch."  
  
"Good luck," one of the girls, Katie, offered.  
  
"Thanks," Mulder replied.  
  
"Luck isn't worth much to me," Serri said sincerely before the agents and the   
  
detective left the room. "But we'll be praying for you, that you catch this . .   
  
. man."  
  
"Praying is better," a taller girl, Arí added. "And more substantial than   
  
luck."  
  
"Thank you," Elizabeth offered, with an interesting note in her voice-that had   
  
obviously touched her.  
  
The two exited the room together and Mulder watched her with interest, she had a   
  
'pondering' look on her face. "You're Christian, aren't you?" Mulder asked.   
  
"You knew that bit from Revelation word for word, and I seem to remember a few   
  
debates between you and Diana from Quantico about the separation of Church and   
  
State."  
  
"Yes, I am a believer," Elizabeth said slowly, pausing in the hallway. "And I   
  
do believe that there should be 'a wall of separation between church and   
  
state'," she said, referring to her ongoing debate with one Diana Fowley, "but I   
  
also believe that what Jefferson meant by the statement has been distorted into   
  
this convoluted mess today, that practically infringes on the first amendment."  
  
"You've thought this out," Mulder said with a grin. "I remember that you   
  
had the distinct ability to make Diana see red-not an easy thing, I couldn't   
  
even do it. We'll have to argue about that some other time."  
  
This prompted a quick grin. "My pleasure-speaking of arguments, did you feel   
  
like you were the one being interrogated in their for a little while?"  
  
"Just a bit," Mulder said with a laugh. 'That was kind of amusing though, I   
  
can't recall the last time a teenager asked me if I had the jurisdiction to be   
  
investigating a case. Local PD yes, some parents, maybe, but never a couple of   
  
students."  
  
"Future lawyers," Elizabeth commented, "which could be a good thing. I   
  
remember my mother told me once I was a born lawyer." She paused. "I didn't   
  
speak with her for a week."  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
Corazai Residence  
North County, St. Louis, Missouri  
Same Day  
8:15PM  
  
Jab. Punch. Jab. Jab, jab, then a left handed punch again. Serri followed the flurry of punches with a knife hand strike to BOB's neck. Then a backfist. She repeated the combination until her arm ached and her knuckles were sore. Then she swiftly switched feet and repeated the combination using the opposite hand. After about thirty seconds, she punched the Body Opponent Bag to the middle body, changing from upper cut to corkscrew punch as it came to her. She finished with a flurry of backfists to accentuate her frustration.  
  
Serri took one step away from BOB, then two, feeling depressed. Today was Ann's birthday, one of Serri's closer friends. Last year she had been shot-the police said it had been a drive by. Right, a drive by. On frickin' Lindell. There was no joke, Ann's parents had money, and Ann was blessed with a certain amount of unsnobbery. She happened to live in one of the gigantic houses along Lindell, one of the cool ones she and her sister Jenna had pointed out countless times that they wouldn't have minded to live in. That was before they had met Ann, though.   
  
They had never found Ann's murderer, but at this moment, that's not what was disturbing her. Abby's attack had unwittingly struck a chord within her. There was something there, something connected to Ann's murder that she wasn't seeing. Abby had described her assailant, and oddly, it had sounded familiar to her-she couldn't place it. Plus the FBI investigation-on Anne's birthday. They probably weren't aware of that, though, the incredible timing, not to mention the irony.  
  
Serri walked up the stairs from the basement, walked slowly down the hall, for once her normally purposeful step had a lost and meandering quality to it. She walked up the second set of steps, turning to her right and walking through her open door. Serri leaned against the door as she closed it behind her, something she rarely did. Lying her head against it for a moment, Serri closed her eyes, praying and hoping at the same time for it to click.  
  
Yes! That was it! The description of the car and the way Ann had been killed had been eerily similar to one of Ann's stories. Serri quickly crossed her room to the far corner and sat down at her desk, quickly booting up her computer. She tapped her fingers on the desk in a rare outward sign of her impatience. "The man Abby described . . . maybe it was a character-maybe that's why he sounded familiar." Perhaps. Another oddity was the fact that the physical description Abby gave wasn't concurrent to what Serri had seen. Abby had claimed to know his hair and eye color, but the man had had a ski mask on, making it impossible for her to make out those details.  
  
Serri quickly touched her mouse, clicking on the internet icon and typing in the address 'www.fanfiction.net'. She quickly typed in Anne's name, Starling, and tapped again on her name once the server located the page. She scrolled downward, glad that Anne's sister had decided to keep Anne's stories up, in a kind of testament to her life. She tapped on the last story Anne had written; it was a romance under Angel. Serri scrolled down, quickly reading over the first chapter of the fic. There it was. The character, Gunn, had been shot in the head, thus killing him. But another character, Cordelia, had went to petition the Oracles, now supposedly Doyle, for that day to be reversed so Cordelia could save Gunn's life. Because of the two characters previous relationship, Doyle had granted her that request, and all lived happily ever after, la-de-dah.  
  
Serri smiled, and laughed out-loud as she clicked on the word "Reviews". "That was crap," she admitted as her eyes stung with tears. Anne had always been a hopeless romantic, regardless of whatever plot line or continuity she had bludgeoned in order to make it work. It had always amused Serri, less so when that same sort of stubbornness entered Anne's personal life. Serri's eyes flickered over the reviews, her eyes paused over one toward the middle. It caught her attention because it had clearly flamed the story.  
  
"Ouch," Serri said out-loud as her eyebrows lifted up. She winced as she continued to read the person's review. He, or she, attacked every character mercilessly, railing against the irrationality of the whole plot line, how the Oracles had been living, mortal creatures, the fact that Doyle wouldn't have done that, even for Cordelia, and the probability that the Powers That Be wouldn't have let him. Serri would have laughed at the fact that the writer took the show, Angel, so seriously, but she could practically feel his rage emanating from the screen . . . it sickened her.  
  
Her eyes flicked up to the name. It wasn't a signed review, so either he wasn't an author on the web-site, or he didn't want anyone to know who he was. But the name he had left was odd, it appeared to be gibberish, nothing in English at all. "Weird," Serri said, dismissing the matter. So Anne's murder and her character's demise were identical.  
  
Exhaling with a sigh, Serri inserted Abby's name, then scrolled down to her stories. She only had five, and four out of them were romances. She clicked on the only one that wasn't a romance. It was a long original, but so far Serri had only read the first chapter-it had to be there.  
  
Serri began to reread the drama, feeling her heart speed up with anticipation. Sure enough, when Serri reached the climax of Abby's story, the killer matched the description Anne had given. And he had attacked his victim in his car.  
  
"This is messed up!" Serri said loudly and with heat. She pushed her chair away from her desk and practically sprinted out of her room. She ran down the hall and yanked open her sister's door without knocking. She was sitting at her desk and writing furiously, as usual. "You gotta see this," Serri said.  
  
"See what?" Jenna asked with a dour look on her face. "And, hello, knock sometime? That's the whole point of the 'I get my own room' thing. Listen to this," she said, leaning down and grabbing a newspaper from off a very large and unorganized stack. "'Local Basketball Prodigy is Murdered, No Clear Cause of Death'." She threw that on the ground in front of her desk and showed Serri the other newspaper. "Man Found Burned To Death in Forest Park". The guy was toast, man, a cinder, and what do the police do, nothin'. Look at today's paper. "'FBI Finds Connection Between Murders', 'Serial Murderer in the Gateway City'. That's why I'm joinin' the FBI-at least they do something."  
  
"Oh, brother," Serri said aloud, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes impatiently. "You're just angry, come on already."  
  
"Listen to this one," Jenna said, ignoring her. "A third grade teacher is found impaled with a freakin' crow bar-how messed up is that?"  
  
Exasperated, Serri crossed the room, grabbed her sister's arm, and practically dragged her into her bedroom. "Read this," she said in a tone that brooked no dissention. "Just these couple of paragraphs."   
  
Grumbling under her breath, Jenna let out a martyr's sigh and slumped forward, leaning one hand on her chin. After a moment she sat upright. "Huh?" she asked herself, then quickly reread it. Serri felt a certain amount of triumph as her sister turned to her, the typical look of scorn mixed with skepticism in her dark brown eyes.  
  
"There's something perverse about mixing a fic with a real life account of being attacked and nearly killed," Jenna said, her voice holding a strong note of disapproval. "And besides that, the writing is crap-no one would survive that."  
  
"Abby posted this before she was attacked," Serri said, tapping on the review button, then moving the cursor to tap on the story title again. "Oops," she muttered under her breath.  
  
"Wait," Jenna said, stilling her hand by grabbing the mouse. She tapped the computer screen with a finger. It directed Serri's attention to a long, involved criticism to Abby's story.   
  
"What about it?" Serri asked.  
  
"Not the review," Jenna said with her customary amount of impatience. "The name. Servus de opinio vana . Its Latin for something of illusion." She grinned slightly. "I am the Holder of All Useless Knowledge, remember? I needed it for a title of my story."  
  
"Look at the date it was posted," Serri said. "That was two or three weeks ago. Abby was attacked only Monday."  
  
"Seriously?" Jenna asked rhetorically. Her brow gained a furrow. "What else were you going to show me?" Serri silently found Anne's story and showed her the part describing the shooting. Jenna was silent for a moment, then clicked on the review page. "Look," she commented, "she got flamed, too," Jenna leaned forward, staring at the screen as if it mystified her, "and from a guy who has a Spanish name. Esclavo de ilusion."  
  
"Slave of illusion," Serri realized, before she hadn't seen the connection-it figured. "I have your Latin to English dictionary right here," Serri said. She paged through it, and sure enough-servus meant slave.  
Her eyes met her twin's as goosebumps rose on her arms. Jenna stared back, then looked at the computer screen again. Serri slowly spoke, "The same man-"  
  
"Or woman," Jenna interjected, keeping her voice level.  
  
"Or woman," Serri conceded. "Flamed two people. One was shot and killed, the other only attacked. The FBI said there was a connection . . . what if this is it? The guy finds his victims on fanfiction.net."  
  
'Two is a coincidence, not a pattern," Jenna contradicted. "But . . . remember that sociologist who was murdered, she did some lecturing about getting into the social services for college students?"  
  
"Yeah, that was horrible," Serri said soberly, her mind flashed briefly back to the news coverage and she briefly closed her eyes, shuddering slightly.  
  
"Yeah, well Dan said she used to post some original stories, mostly humorous. She was pretty good-but she also wrote for the Pretender."   
  
"Do you recall the name?" Serri asked, praying to herself.  
  
"Yeah, it was Azazi," Jenna said, slowly typing the name in and tapping the 'enter' key. She tapped on his name again, then scrolled down through his list of stories, then clicked on the first one under the 'Pretender' heading. There was no flame under that one, or the next one, and Serri began to think their theory was bogus. No suck luck.  
  
"Here we go, slave of illusion in the style of the French," Jenna said. "Boy, howdy, extreme dissing. It was a Jarod\Ms. Parker romance. Let's see, 'unrealistic', 'no way in hell', and, look at this one."  
  
Serri read it aloud. "'You have completely mangled Ms. Parker's character-there is no way she would ever be that forgiving to anyone, let alone Jarod. She still holds him responsible for her mother's death, you idiot!'" Serri's eyebrow rose with interest. "The guy's a regular charmer. 'No one changes that completely. In fact, people don't change. They can't, they are wired to think, feel, and act the way they do since childhood. One good or bad experience doesn't change this. Not even God, if there is a God. And he doesn't give a crap about us anyway. This is full of idiotic idealism and all together bad writing and contrived plot lines.' Bingo. It's the same guy. Mildly offensive doctrinal beliefs, though."  
  
"Okay, this guy has major issues," Jenna said. "I don't particularly care if this guy believes in God or not-that's his business. But if he's going to get on the bloody soapbox, he might as well have a logical argument every once in a while. He was just criticizing this guy for crap writing, then he turns around and does it. This guy . . . has problems. He needs to see a shrink, seriously. Then he can have more problems," Jenna said, not really paying attention to her words. "This is a little too reminiscent of Anti-Transcendentalism, though."  
  
"Yeah," Serri agreed. "The whole, people don't change thing? And look, this guy has a bit of naturalism in it. Not to mention Freud."  
  
"He psychoanalyzed the whole thing," Jenna realized. "Who does that?"  
  
"Besides us? Someone with too much time on their hands. Or an obsession," Serri reasoned. She paused for a moment; perhaps they were going a little too far with this . . . but no. Serri had feelings about people, intuition, or spiritual discernment, if you will. And that true voice was never wrong, she had learned to trust it even with its limited usage. "We should read the story to be sure." The two read the story silently, quietly confirming the series of events, and the method in which the woman had been murdered. In the story, Jarod had been beaten into an inch of his life, and now, the woman who represented Jarod's character had been killed in the same matter.  
  
"I'm calling this Agent Mulder person," Serri said decisively. "But let's see if we can get together a convincing argument before they get here. We'll want to show them, too."  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Corazai Residence  
North County, St. Louis  
Friday, December 23  
9:00PM  
  
Mulder rang the doorbell in front of the midsize, two story house. He tapped a foot on the front porch with a mild amount of impatience-he hoped they had something as Serri Corazai had hinted at over the phone. It could have been the typical teenage prank call, but Mulder didn't think so. For that matter, neither had Elizabeth, who was peeking in the French doors to Mulder's left.  
"She's coming," Elizabeth said, turning quickly back to Mulder and stepping up to the door.  
  
Serri yanked open the door with impressive force, and didn't spare any words. "Upstairs," she uttered succinctly, waving the two agents in. She quickly shut and locked the door after them, heading down a short hallway and up the stairs to the second floor. Mulder looked around in appreciation. The house was definitely in the French design with curving archways instead of doors connecting the living room, dining room, and hallway. The wood finish was particularly nice, of a type of hard wood that Mulder didn't readily know the name to. He jogged up the stairs after Serri and walked in the second open doorway on his left. He stepped into what was most likely Serri's bedroom. The walls were painted a warm amber-gold with a hint of red in it. The floors were hard wood with a wine colored rug in the middle of the room. The curtains and drapes were a deep, hunter green, and she had a very cool set of French doors leading out to a balcony-a newer addition onto the house. The thin cloth on a round table in the middle of the room was also a wine color. She had two prominent bookshelves. One was clearly fiction works, with two shelves dedicated to candles, small polished stones, and various figurines made of glass or crystal. The rest were jam packed with science fiction and fantasy books, a few historical fiction, a couple of classics like The Chronicles of Narnia and several books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Mulder also noticed a few of the Left Behind novels, and raised an eyebrow. An interesting variety. The other bookshelf on the adjacent wall held informational texts. A couple on the various sciences, astronomy, psychology, and biology, as well as others on various philosophies and theological studies. A few blatantly protesting some philosophical movements.   
  
"'Philosophical Essays in Pragmatic Naturalism'," Elizabeth said while leaning over, her eyes level with the book's title, her voice containing disbelief. "How can you read crap like that?"  
  
"Easy," Serri replied. "I had to for a history project. That's not what we wanted you to see." She took a stack of papers from in front of the printer and laid it on the round table. She quickly leafed through it, separating it into three smaller sections. "Read these," she commanded. Mulder caught her eye.  
  
"I'm guessing this does pertain to the investigation," Mulder said rhetorically, beginning to read the first document.  
  
"How would that be?" Elizabeth asked, almost under her breath. "Beside pretty bad writing, I don't see how . . . ." her voice trailed off as she straitened up quickly with a wince of slight pain. She looked up, first meeting Mulder's gaze with an open eyed look of surprise, then swiftly turning to look at both Jenna and Serri. "This describes Anne's shooting-another character is the victim, but this is it, high class neighborhood and all. Mulder, look at this."  
  
Mulder quickly skimmed the page-the murder was depicted in specific detail, and also how another character had reversed this one's death. He finally looked up. "Well, the writer of this story didn't bring Miss Miller back," Mulder said.  
  
"Read yours," Jenna said. "I'm thinking you'll see a pattern."  
  
Elizabeth hurriedly picked up the last document as Mulder read through his. The same elements were present, the death or impending death of a central character, the impossible healing or some kind of resurrection, and the final reconciliation.  
  
Before Mulder could ask another question, Serri handed him another piece of papers. It had three paragraphs of information on it, one for each story. "This is a review from each story, notice any similarities?"  
  
Mulder felt his eyebrows rise as he instantly picked up the reviewer's angry tone. The reviewer quickly went on to pick apart every plot line and insult the writer at every turn. The other two were similar in tone and style, Mulder wouldn't be surprised if the reviewers had the same name. He quickly checked the name, no they weren't the same . . . .   
  
"Wait a minute," Mulder said in momentary surprise. "That's Latin, Servus de opinio vana," he turned back to Elizabeth who was now peering over his shoulder. "Basically slave of illusion, or something you mistakenly believe or perceive-it isn't an exact translation. And that's French for the same thing."  
"And esclavo de ilusion is the same in Spanish," Elizabeth said, slowly returning to her feet. "This provides a connection, certainly. Everyone else had e-mail accounts, it's not going to be that hard to find out if they were writers for fanfiction.net."  
  
"It's perfect," Mulder said aloud. "Think about it-no one saw fit to mention this. Why? Because it isn't important. It's casual writing, nothing major, just for fun. It's subtle, too, I wouldn't have thought to look here." Mulder turned expectantly toward the twins. "Why did you think to look here?"  
  
"I hadn't," Serri admitted. "But when you suggested that the killings were related, that jarred something in my memory. I knew that Abby had described her assailant as one of her character's, and the way she had been attacked was similar. Then I checked Anne's stories and found this one."  
  
"Wait a minute," Elizabeth said slowly. "That's odd. Ms. Baker did describe her assailant as being similar her main character-but you didn't see it that way?"  
  
"No, it was some guy in a ski mask, that's why it was odd. She couldn't possibly have seen his face."  
  
Elizabeth and Mulder exchanged glances. The plot thickens, Mulder thought. He could almost hear the Twilight Zone theme music playing in the background. Mulder pretty much figured the guy was some kind of psychic, but beyond that he hadn't had time to put the pieces together.  
  
"We now enter into the Twilight Zone," Elizabeth muttered. Mulder would have laughed, but this was too serious. Despite Elizabeth's wry tone, all traces of amusement or warmth had vanished from her features, this had struck a chord within her. "We need to get back to the station, see if we can pull up some author accounts on fanfiction.net. Maybe if we read the other stories we can get inside this guy's head, find out why, exactly, he's doing this."  
  
"Wait a minute," Serri said, her eyes narrowing. "What aren't you telling us? You know something." Her tone was accusatory, but she was correct. Mulder was surprise that he was torn by the fact that he couldn't answer her question-at least not yet. Not that she would believe him anyway.  
  
"Any knowledge that we have at this point . . . let me just say that I'm not willing to part with it."  
  
Serri and Jenna looked distinctly displeased. "Part with it?" Jenna said, not bothering to shield her scorn. "What are you, a freakin' hallmark card about friendship?"  
  
Serri snorted, with a quick, almost disbelieving shake of her head. Elizabeth had better self-control than that, but Mulder sensed her involuntary amusement. Mulder finally let a grin slip onto his features. "A hallmark card?" he asked. "I was thinking more along the lines of Shoebox."  
  
That earned an honest grin from Jenna as well as a shift in her eyes that Mulder couldn't readily identify. Serri relaxed somewhat, then nodded to him in a deliberate way that not many young people had acquired. It communicated exactly what she wanted: I understand, but I don't like this. It even held a hint of doubt in his decision.  
  
"We would ask that you keep what we say here confidential," Elizabeth said. She was about to explain further, but Serri shook her head.  
  
"That, you do not have to explain. You have my word," she said as Jenna nodded instantly. Mulder was mildly impressed, and slightly surprised. Her phrasing was intriguing to say the least, but nearly everything about these two and their group of friends were unorthodox, to say the least.  
  
(((  
  
Mulder read over the second to last story, trying to keep from yawning as he scribbled notes in his brown field journal. This was definitely an X-File. Each victim had wrote a story dealing with the same elements. All, in at least one of their stories, had been flamed by Slave of Illusion. The reviewer, Slave of Illusion, had in each time reviewed using the same name in a different language. The languages were connected in the same way the victims were, each were from a country or civilization with a strong Judeo-Christian background. Elizabeth was right, the killer was mocking them. Each and every victim had been killed in precisely the same way as the central character had been attacked.   
  
Mulder sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. This showed them how the killer chose his victims, and probably why. He and Elizabeth would begin a detailed profile tomorrow-seeing as it was nearing one o' clock in the morning. But it still didn't tell them how. For example, David Burzon, a basketball player from SLU, had been killed with what appeared to be multi-system failure resulting from natural causes. That, in and of itself, was unnatural in the extreme. In his Voyager story, the one Slave of Illusion had viciously attacked, the character 'Tuvok' had been psychically drained of energy, and somehow restored. The plot did have a lot of holes in it, and there was no clear explanation of almost all of the story elements. Except David Burzon hadn't been healed, he had been killed.  
  
Mulder looked over at Elizabeth who was leaning back in her chair with her feet up on the desk. She was staring at the papers in her hands, concentrating furiously, which easily belayed her weariness. As if sensing Mulder's gaze, she swept her feet off the desk and onto the floor. Standing up, she dropped her papers on the desk and approached Mulder with a wry grin and a large yawn.  
  
"I don't know about you-" she started to say. But her knees seemed to buckle, and she dropped to the floor, catching herself with her hands. "Ouch," she said softly as Mulder sprang to his feet, quickly kneeling beside her.  
  
"Are you alright? What happened?" He asked quickly, helping her to slowly stand back up. She looked like she was in some kind of pain and her hands were shaking. He quickly sat her down.  
  
"Nothing," she said, her voice slightly dazed. "I don't know. My doctor said that the medication I am on would make it seem as if I had a lot of energy, but then cut out on me." She closed her eyes, holding perfectly still for a moment.  
  
"Maybe you should take it easy, then," Mulder suggested, not hiding his tone of worry. "I'm going to drive you home." Her eyes caught his and she managed a grin as she saw his unyielding expression.   
  
"I promise, I won't fall apart," Elizabeth said, a touch of sarcasm entering her voice as the two agents walked out to Mulder's rental car. "Quit worrying. Oh, and Mulder, I suggest you take a coat tomorrow, forecast says in the next couple of days its supposed to get below freezing."  
  
"It's practically forty-five degrees, now," Mulder protested. "and it's night."  
  
"Cold front coming in, and the winds are changing," Elizabeth said with some amusement. "Ten to one it'll be in the teens by Christmas. If you freeze to death, your partner will blame me, so get a coat."  
  
"Afraid of Agent Scully's wrath?" Mulder asked as he started the car.  
"You've worked together for seven years," Elizabeth said. "I should be."  
"You're probably right," Mulder admitted.   
  
"Oh," Elizabeth said, shaking her head in self-directed annoyance. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I have a duty to about twenty members of the Drazen family. I probably won't be able to make much of the traditional celebration, but I have to make cookies."  
  
"Cookies?" Mulder asked with a slight quirk of his lips. He took a left at the next street and stopped the car.  
  
"Christmas cookies," Elizabeth said. "Come over tomorrow and you can help me make them-as well as bounce ideas off me."  
  
Mulder pondered it for a moment. "As long as you save some for us," he said finally, amusement in his hazel eyes.  
  
"Of course," Elizabeth said in a slightly miffed voice as she got out of the car. "What do you take me for?"  
  
Mulder just shook his head and tossed off a wave after Elizabeth slammed the door shut.  
  
Drazen Residence  
North County, St. Louis  
Saturday, December 24  
10:15AM  
  
Elizabeth stared at him, a look of compassion in her dark brown eyes. She opened the refrigerator door while shaking her head from side to side, pulling out two large mixing bowls. "You've never made Christmas cookies? No Snickerdoodles, molasses crinkles, sugar cookies, gingerbread, none of it?" She put the two bowls on the table in the dining room and sat down. "That's just sad-okay, now you can have a crash course."  
  
"We're supposed to be figuring this guy out," Mulder said as he reluctantly sat in the seat Elizabeth indicated. Then he decided he didn't care much. "What am I supposed to do?"  
  
She grinned, she knew she had him. "first wash your hands while I get out the cookie sheets-then preheat the oven. You do know how to work a gas stove, right?"  
  
"Yes," Mulder said over the sound of the water gushing from the faucet. His tone held a trace of indignation. He opened the oven door and struck a match, hearing the tell-tale whoosh as the gas caught fire. "What temperature?"  
  
"Just leave it there," Elizabeth directed, "the temperature thingamajig has been broken for about fifteen years."  
  
Mulder grinned in bafflement at that comment. "I guess you just haven't had the chance to fix it them."  
  
She responded with a look, much like the one Scully would have given him if she had heard his comment. "I'm used to it by now. This really isn't my house, though. I live in D.C. My parents keep this one around because most of the cousins travel. My sister's in the FBI and so are a couple of my cousins. We've got a few people in the army and the navy, too. Enough family history."  
The two worked in silence for a few moments, and finally Elizabeth paused, dropping a ball of cookie dough on the sheet and looked directly at Mulder. "Mulder, what's going on with this case?"  
  
Mulder looked at her with mild surprise. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, some of these murders are perfectly normal as murders go, but others should be impossible. One might be able to explain away this man's ability to know impossibly too much about his victims, but not with the added implausibility of the natures of some of the victims' deaths."  
  
Mulder looked into Elizabeth's brown eyes, which at the moment revealed very little, save she was troubled about something. "What are you saying, Elizabeth?"  
  
"I'm saying this case gives me the willies, the heebeegeebees, goosebumps," she leaned forward, staring into Mulder's eyes. "I'm a street agent, Mulder, realistic fear of impending death is one thing, but this is something else."  
  
"The case scares you?" Mulder asked, at once focusing his hazel eyes on hers.  
  
"Yeah," Elizabeth said softly, as if she didn't like admitting that fact.  
The silence deepened as Mulder considered her words. He had found that if the agents he worked with were particularly disturbed by a certain case, their concerns had nearly always been justified-Scully's had. It didn't help that Elizabeth had a rumored sixth sense about cases-almost like Mulder's, but she tended to know people with a sharper intuition than even he had.  
  
"How does he know them?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes almost daring him to tell her the truth. "Why did Abby see some character from her story?"  
  
"Because he wanted her to," Mulder said instantly in return. It had taken him up to now to unravel a few more events in the mystery that was this case. "Some how, psychically if you will, he gets inside their minds and finds out enough about them to have the opportunity to kill them. Maybe he just gets a name, and goes from there."  
  
"All right," Elizabeth said, her voice almost faltering. "So he's able to get inside their heads."  
  
"He's also able to project an illusion onto their minds," Mulder added. "They see what he want them to see."  
  
"Slave of illusion," Elizabeth said slowly, almost as if it hurt to get the words out. Mulder watched her carefully; this case really was getting to her. "He isn't the slave of illusion, they are. Slave to his illusion."  
  
Mulder didn't say anything, just caught her gaze and nodded slowly. It was enough. Elizabeth sat back in her chair, the obvious struggle she had was written all over her features. "So, is anyone subject to his will?" she asked, a note of frustration entering her voice. "Can he just take over our minds and make us see what he wants us to see? I don't know if I can believe that."  
  
Mulder looked at her sharply. "You don't know if you want to believe that," he countered, his voice harsh.  
  
A flash of anger slipped out from behind her veiled eyes, "No," she rejoined, her voice controlled. "I know I don't want to believe that. Mulder, I'm not contesting the fact that it's possible. A lot of things are possible. I'm not Scully, Mulder. But I'm not you either."  
  
Mulder nodded, understanding, he backed off a bit. Elizabeth was correct. Mulder was so used to everyone dismissing his 'theories' as crap simply because of their . . . odd nature, he didn't stop to consider that she might have more plausible reasons (in his mind) than pure skepticism, say, that Scully would have. "But your reasons are philosophical," he said slowly.  
  
Elizabeth stood up, walking away from the table for a moment. "Partially, if you define faith under philosophy. I have a hard time believing that God would let everyone be deceived, especially if one was zealously and earnestly searching for the truth."  
  
Mulder considered that for a moment, then realized he had underestimated Elizabeth's devotion to her faith. The recent murders would have hit her harder, perhaps. Mulder knew how agents or cops got if a killer was targeting one of their own, this was almost no different, and perhaps the bond was stronger between Christians.   
  
Elizabeth spoke again, more slowly, as if she wasn't sure she should say the words. "Mulder, when you search for the truth, make sure that you are looking for the truth-not for what you want the truth to be. I find that most people don't want The Truth, if you will, but their Truth, pre-prepared and prefabricated. "  
  
Mulder paused for a moment, nodding slowly. If that had come from anyone else, he might have been insulted, but right now he couldn't be. Elizabeth continued pacing behind her chair.  
  
Mulder watched as Elizabeth's eyes brightened for a moment. "Wait a minute," she said as she dropped down into her chair. "He can't have influence over everyone. All other by-standards, and some of the victims, claimed to have seen the character depicted as the assailant."  
  
"Except for Serri Corazai," Mulder said with slow comprehension. "She just saw a man."  
  
"There has to be some limitation, some meaning there-everything else he does has," Elizabeth said. Mulder felt the consensus they reached.  
  
The shrill ringing of Mulder's cell-phone caused her to jump and Mulder to close his eyes. With a quick shake of his head, and a shared grin with Elizabeth. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and dug his phone out of a pocket. "Mulder," he said.  
  
"There has been another attack," Detective Miller said, voice chillingly cold.   



	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
  
Borders  
Clayton, Missouri  
11:15PM  
  
"I hate secular Christmas music," Serri said with a growl. "They play the same stupid song fifty times."  
  
"Why do you hate it, though?" Hester asked as the two went up the stairs. The song changed to 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town', and both gave grimaces of obvious agony.  
  
"Case in point," Serri said dryly. "But mostly, it's the fact that they're all so shallow. They're missin' the point."  
  
"I think you're looking a little too deep into this," Hester said as Serri looked at a book rack with annoyance.  
  
"I wish Tamora Pierce would hurry up and write a book already," Serri grumbled. "I mean, come on, how long does it take?"  
  
Hester didn't even bother responding, just gave Serri a relatively amused look. After a moment she spoke deliberately, "Why don't you ask Jenna about that one?"  
  
Serri snorted, then grinned in good humor. Jenna was famous, or infamous, for her stories. She had about five, maybe ten percent of her hundred plus stories finished. "Somehow, I don't think she'd be very sympathetic, at least  
to me, anyway," Serri responded dryly.  
  
"Let's talk about the cute FBI agent in your house yesterday, instead,"  
Hester suggested with a slight grin as Cyn bounded over to them.   
  
Serri felt her smile fade somewhat, she didn't like the emotions thinking  
about the FBI, the case, or the stretch of heinous murders, evoked. But Hester  
was trying to lighten the moment. Also, to be honest with herself, she didn't  
particularly want anyone to know her emotional state at the moment.  
  
"Not much to tell, really," Serri said, deliberately teasing Hester with  
an innocent look in her brown eyes. "Agents Drazen, and what's the other one,  
oh, that's right, Mulder, that one guy who you think is hot, they came, and we  
told them . . . . " Serri's voice trailed off as she spotted Annette and Beth  
heading up the stairs. "Hey you guys," she said in a stage whisper.  
  
Cyn didn't bother keeping relatively quiet in the bookstore . . . or  
anywhere else for that matter . . . and shouted. "Over here, come on, we've all  
ready missed one Shuttle waiting for you."  
  
"Well, sorry," Annette said with cheerful false sincerity. "Let's go."  
  
"Well sure, as long as you're ready," Cyn said dramatically.  
  
"Still waitin' for Arí and Jenna," Serri explained with a slightly amused  
smile. "They're floatin' somewhere around here."  
  
"Right," Beth said. "And we're meetin' everyone else at the Galleria,  
correct?"  
  
"Duh," Cyn replied, attracting several not amused looks from everyone  
else. Then she smiled widely. "Most of the Cynics' Club is already there."  
  
Serri smiled at Hester, "Maybe you should have went with them."  
  
"I know," Hester said with a dramatized sigh. "I don't know how I put up  
with all you damned optimists."  
  
"Not optimist, idealistic realist," Beth and Serri said in unison.  
  
"I thought we cleared that up already," Annette said with mock indignation.  
  
"Realism," Cyn repeated. She pointed at the third of Hester's famous buttons which was pinned securely directly below her collar. "'If at first you don't succeed, skydiving's not for you. That's realism."  
  
Serri, Beth, and Annette laughed out loud as Hester merely smirked at Cyn.   
"What did you tell them?" Hester asked, prodding Serri back on topic.  
  
It took Serri a split second to recall what Hester was talking about. "Something I can't tell you," Serri said bluntly, staring directly up and into Hester's eyes.  
  
"Afraid she's the killer?" Annette asked with some deserved sarcasm.  
  
"Yeah, look! I'm going to kill Cyn!" Hester said, crossing her eyes and   
letting a maniacal look enter her eyes. "With an impossible gizzard  
extraction!"  
  
The one thing he hadn't tried, Serri thought to herself. "I'm relatively  
certain you are not the killer," she said in her normal dry tone, "but I gave my  
word that I would not say anything."  
  
"But we're your friends," Beth commented.  
  
"And?" Jenna asked, entering with her customary lack of tack and regard-  
in this moment it was particularly refreshing. She was the collector of several  
looks, save one from Arí who merely smiled, and shook her head.  
  
"Seriously, what would you have me do? Break my word? Try door number  
two." Seeing their unconvinced expressions, Serri shook her head. "This isn't  
the run of the mill gossip, dearies, when the FBI asks me to shut up, I normally  
comply."  
  
"You don't have to make this into patriotism," Beth countered, thinking a  
head several steps of Serri's argument.  
  
"You don't have to," Jenna countered, a touch abrasively. "We are."  
  
Serri hid a grin that might have angered her friends or just about anyone  
else. Instead she inclined her head-she agreed.  
  
"The twins commune telepathically," Cyn said-she didn't appear to care  
overly much, or else she knew the futility of arguing with either of them,  
especially Jenna.  
  
"Did she tell you?" Hester asked Arí and earned a raised eyebrow from  
Serri.  
  
"No," Arí responded in mildly defensive reply. "I'm not going to ask,  
either."  
  
"Learn from wisdom," Serri said with enough light dryness to take the acid  
out of the remark. She headed out of the top level exit unto Clayton. It was  
still warm outside, but the faint breeze had a tell-tale bite of cold. "How  
much do you want to bet that by the time we get back from the movies, or by  
tomorrow, it'll be colder than crap out here?" she asked Jenna, who had  
immediately followed her outside. The rest of the group joined them, and as was  
customary, sprinted across the street when their was no immediate traffic.  
  
"Ah, jay-walking," Hester said with a satisfied air and sigh. "The life  
of an R-K student."  
  
"Educating di-" Beth began promptly.  
  
"Hey!" Serri and Jenna sai in unison, instantly overscoring her words.  
  
"-for the 21st century," Annette finished for Beth with a mischievous  
grin. Annette was one of those deceptive ones. One wouldn't expect her to say   
half the things that she did. A few moments later the Clayton Shuttle Bee was   
visible down the street.  
  
"Do all bees have blue butts?" Jenna asked as the Shuttle showed to a  
stop. "'Cause you know, in the natural world, I haven't observed it that  
often."  
  
Serri promptly whacked Jenna with her smallish purse. "That's for asinine  
comments," she said as they showed the man their transfers.  
  
"What do you have in there?" Jenna grumbled as they took their seats near  
the back.  
  
"Pencil bag, calculator, cell phone, disk with very important Lit.  
assignment on it-the normal," Serri replied. She held up her purse. "And all  
fits in something quite smaller than a suitcase."  
  
Serri looked out the window aimlessly as the Shuttle started through the  
intercession. As usual, the traffic was stupid in Clayton. Her eyes fell into  
focus involuntarily as a speeding car bore down on the shuttle. Her eyes fixed  
on the figure of the driver as he dived out the door of the car.  
  
"Holy crap," Serri managed to get out. "Brace yourselves," she shouted as  
the car rammed into the side and rear of the Shuttle. The Shuttle lurched to  
the side, and Serri slammed her head into the soft back of the seat in front of  
her, her eyes stinging slightly. She retrieved her already mangled glasses from  
their position on the floor. There was a collection of shouts and choice words  
from her friends, the only denizens of the Shuttle besides the driver. The  
driver instantly skidded to a stop with a customary screech of tires.  
  
"That was deliberate," Serri said almost silently, jumping out of her  
seat. "You guys all right?" she asked with a pseudo-calmness. Only Jenna had  
caught her words, and she was already cursing the driver's stupidity with  
original concoctions. Serri quickly scanned the occupants of the Shuttle as she  
made her way up to the driver's side. The older man was breathing heavily, his  
face turning an ashy color that sent chills down Serri's spine.   
  
"Crap," she said again, with considerable force. She leaned over to the  
driver, his face looked bruised. "Sir, are you all right?" Without waiting for  
a response, she called over her shoulder. "Jenna, get the cell phone, and call  
911." She directed her attention back towards the man.  
  
"I'll be fine, my shoulder just hurts a little," he wheezed.  
  
First rate BS, Serri thought, barely keeping the words from exiting her  
lips. She exited the Shuttle, jogged around the front, then shouted into the  
window. "Open the door!" she said. She finally pounded on the window. Arí came to the front, and after a moment, pressed a button or pulled some kind of  
lever, Serri couldn't see which. The door opened, and the man tumbled out the  
side and onto Serri. The only thing that saved her was the fact that the man got tangled up in the car.  
  
She halfway supported the man, who was much heavier than she was. "Get  
Hester over here," she said loudly enough as she struggled with a thread of  
panic. After a moment, all sensation of emotion left her, and she gave a silent and reverent prayer of thanks.  
  
"Come on, freakishly strong girl," Serri said, quoting Hester's own words back to her. "You are okay, right?"  
  
"Sure," she responded somewhat sarcastically, taking part of the man's weight as Arí struggled to release the man's feet from their entrapment. All at once, the man fell onto them, knocking Hester and Serri onto the pavement. A moment later, Arí was thrown through the open door.   
  
Arí's elbow struck Serri's jaw, but she shook it off, rolling out from under her and jumping to her feet. She jumped over the three sprawled bodies and back onto the Shuttle, looking around frantically. A half a second later she spotted the same man, attempting to stab Cyn with something. It took Serri a moment to spot the long, sinister outline of the hypodermic needle. The man was the same man who had attacked Abby. The shock paralyzed her for a moment.   
  
The man was using Cyn to hold Jenna back against the back of the Shuttle. His hand has against her throat, cutting off her air. Annette was unconscious and only Beth's battle kept the man from stabbing Cyn and injecting her with whatever was in the needle. Beth was losing the battle. Jenna was yelling something, partially obstructed by Cyn's weight pressing up against her. In a second, Serri had come up behind the man. She elbowed him swiftly in the back of the neck, then grabbed the arm with the needle, turning his body to face her. Without delay she slammed her fist into his solar plexus, then rammed his straitened arm against one of the metal poles stretching from ceiling to floor. He dropped the needle, and it shattered on the floor. He swung with the other arm, landing a punch on Serri. She managed to slide away from the punch and partially block it.   
  
He came forward again, tackling her to the floor of the shuttle bug. He hit her once across the jaw knocking her head against the floor of the Shuttle Bee. She was dazed, but saw Jenna come up behind him, executing a hard hammerfist strike with her right hand. He screamed in agony, distracting him for a moment. The small space hindered her movements, but she swiftly grabbed a fistful of his shirt pulling him close. For a split second they both froze, and Serri stared into his cold gray eyes as he looked into her brown ones. A certain understanding passed between them before Serri broke the spell and jabbed him in the throat with two fingers of her other hand. He choked, pulling up and away, staggering, partially falling, out the door. Serri caught him by the ankle, but he sharply kicked her in the face. She held on for a moment, but chose to block the next kick instead.  
  
Serri lay still for a moment, breathing heavily, then rolled over onto her back, and stared up into Jenna's eyes. Jenna extended her a hand, and pulled her up. Without a word the two bounded out of the Shuttle, the man was long gone. Barely seconds later, she heard sirens in the distance. The driver! Serri ran around the edge of the shuttle, bracing herself for another moment. To her horror, Arí and Hester were busy doing CPR. Serri felt her knees buckle for a moment, and she choose to kneel rather than fall down.   
  
She closed her eyes for a moment, and she heard herself whispering something suspiciously like the ninety-first psalm. Annette, she thought, getting to her feet.  
  
"Annette," she said, repeating the words. She doubled-back to inside the shuttle. Almost tripping over the seats, she knelt next to the seat where   
Annette still lay unconscious. Beth and Cyn were both still standing, appearing to be in a state of shock. Serri didn't blame them, her mind felt like it was in some kind of stupor as well. Serri reached out to touch Annette's pulse. She knew the girl was alive, but she wanted to knoww how she was doing. Perhaps it was just reassurance. As soon as her fingers came within an inch of Annette's neck, the girl's eyes opened and her hand lashed out. Serri barely caught it.  
  
"You all right?" Serri asked after a moment of mutual silence.   
  
"Yeah," Annette said after a moment, both of their eyes met. The word safety was communicated in an instance and Annette relaxed.   
  
"He's gone, and the cops are here," Serri said, addressing all of them. "Let's get out of here."  
  
They exited the shuttle and all ready the paramedics had taken over the CPR. Serri walked away from the intersection to the divider in the middle of the street. She sat down on it and leaned her head against her knees. She sat like that-for how long she didn't know. She couldn't think straight, her heart was too loud in her ears. She breathed slowly, keeping her eyes closed and forcing all excess thought and emotion out of her mind. She heard the engine of a car pull up a few moments later, stopping at the crime scene. Something caused Serri to open her eyes. Special Agents Mulder and Drazen stepped out of the car and toward Detective Miller. She watched them with narrowed eyes.  



	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
  
Agent Drazen stepped out of the car, looking around at the familiar intersection. The Shuttle Bee was sideways in the middle of the intersection of Clayton and Forsythe. A black car with its front smashed and bent in such a way that made Elizabeth almost wince in sympathy was only a couple of feet away from the Shuttle Bee. Elizabeth jogged toward the car, her eyes narrowing in surprise. The black car was a Volkswagon Jetta, but mangled, metal bars were attached to the front of the car as well as some steel or steel like protrusions.   
Elizabeth shifted her gaze to the side of the Shuttle Bee, and shivered slightly as a gentle but cold breeze kicked up. The side was only superficially marred and dented-the car took far more structural damage. Elizabeth turned to face the front of the car, looking to the direction where the car had come from. She could see tire marks extend backwards and to the side of the road.   
Elizabeth touched the hood of the car; it was still warm. She looked down and to the side as she could almost feel the cold rage that permeated this man, the killer. Her mind instantly put forth a vision of what had happened. The killer had been waiting, parked, or car idling, across the street. Then, when he saw the Shuttle Bee down the street, he had got into position, timing it so he could ram the Bee. Judging from the lack of blood in the interior of the car, he had bailed before the car hit.  
"Elizabeth," Mulder said, startling her out of her thoughts as he jogged her way. Elizabeth looked up at him, for the first time flickering her gaze around the rest of the crime scene. On the side of the road were a group of girls, Serri, Guo-Xing, and a few others from the classroom along with other friends she or Mulder hadn't met. Serri was sitting down, a little ways from the group, watching her and Mulder. After a few moments, she stood up, slipping into the group of friends.  
"Well, a few witnesses who were inside when the attack occurred," Mulder said, gesturing with his hand, "say that the guy had been sitting there for about a half an hour, for them, obviously. He sees the Shuttle, puts it into high gear, and jumps out of the car before it smashes into the side of the Shuttle Bee."  
Elizabeth nodded, then shook her head a moment later. "The guy had this planned, he was waiting for them. Look at this," she said, stepping closer to the beat-up Jetta. She indicated the steel work-up. "He had this planned, the car was perfect for what he wanted."  
"I'm not convinced he's an organized killer, Elizabeth," Mulder argued, shaking his head slightly. "I don't think he picks someone to play out his delusion, I think they enrage him so he feels . . . almost obliged to kill them."  
"The car was stolen," Detective Miller said, striding up to the two agents. He cast a glance over at the group of friends. "Two nights ago. The gear on the front of it? Apparently the original owners had it installed for safety reasons-according to the officer who was dealing that case, the owners were a couple of nutcases-real paranoid."  
Mulder caught the sly look Elizabeth gave him with a sardonic grin. "Oh right," he said.  
Elizabeth gave him a slight smile, but sobered almost instantly. "What have you got from the victims, Detective Miller?"   
The detective sighed. "Our perpetrator tried to stab Cyn-you recall her? Red brown hair, about five two? He had a hypodermic needle; we're having the substance anazyled right now. Um, as far as we can tell, he got on the bus, went straight for Cyn, the girls managed to hold him back until the Corazai twins really stuck it to him. You'll want to hear it from them, I'm guessing."  
Mulder and Elizabeth exchanged glances and headed over to the group. One of them saw the agents and detective coming, and all discussion stopped.   
Detective Miller spoke. "Arí and Hester managed to resuscitate one Mr. Collins, the bus driver. He's already on his way to the hospital," he said, gesturing at the two, taller girls.  
"Very impressive," Elizabeth said, her tone genuine as she studied the two girls. "You have taken a CPR class, both of you?"  
"It was a required course last year's health class," Hester said, her voice slow and somewhat deliberate.  
Mulder nodded, then began questioning. "What happened, from the beginning, after he rammed the bus."  
Annette spoke up; she had a darkening, bluish-purple bruise lining the left side of her face. Left handed, Elizabeth instantly realized. If Annette had been punched, that would have to be a left-handed blow. "Serri told everyone to brace themselves. Then the car hit us. Not the first time, but definitely the worst. After that, we kind of just sat there. Guo-Xing called 911 on their cell-phone and Serri went up front of see if the driver was okay."  
Serri's voice was quiet as she spoke. "He looked kind of bad, so we figured we'd get him out of the Bee. I went around the outside of the car, then asked Arí to open the door."  
"Did you see anyone while you were outside the Shuttle?" Mulder asked.  
"No," Serri replied flatly. Elizabeth shot her a questioning look-something was up with her. The girl hadn't responded this way to Abby's attack. Elizabeth could sense anger growing underneath the surface. Elizabeth exchanged a look with Mulder, who nodded subtly.   
Arí took over the narration. "I went up front to open the door. The bus driver fell out, I had to untangle him from the seatbelt. After he fell out, Serri told Hester to get down there and help her. A moment later somebody shoved me hard enough to knock me out through the door. I didn't get a look at him then."  
"The guy came back here, threw Cyn into the back of the Bee, with Guo-Xing behind her," Beth narrated. "He punched Annette in the jaw, then tried to inject Cyn with the needle. I grabbed his arm. Then Serri came up, broke his hold, and knocked him around."  
Guo-Xing started speaking. "The man tackled her to the ground. So," she said with a crooked grin. She held up a five or six inch pointed metal object. Congealed blood was evident on it. "Serri said she had her pencil bag. I took the compass and jammed it down into his shoulder. Now you have DNA," she said, her voice holding a note of triumph.  
Mulder took an evidence bag out of his pocket, and Guo-Xing placed the syringe inside it. He looked at her, smiling slightly. "Do you realize you might just have given us a huge break on this case?"  
"Yes, I do," Guo-Xing said, sounding slightly smug. Hester clapped her on the shoulder as Beth mock-solemnly shook her hand. Serri gave her sister a slight grin, which faded as she regarded the two agents.   
"Ask them to describe your killer, Agent Mulder," Serri said, a challenging note entering her voice.   
Cyn looked down, then up. "It was James Marsters. You know, Spike, off Buffy the Vampire Slayer."  
Detective Miller stared at the girl, incredulity written all over his face. At the challenging and confirming looks of the other girls, she sighed. "So maybe he had a mask of sorts."  
Cyn snorted in obvious disgust. "He had a freakin' English accent. He said one word, 'Traitor', and it was so Spike's voice. He was the right height and everything. It was totally Mission: Impossible."  
"It was him down to the slightest detail," Beth admitted-"and I didn't know that serial murderers went in for the whole Ethan Hunt thing."  
Elizabeth took in a deep breath, but said nothing. After a moment, she looked at the girls. "You said he spoke one word-how did you know it was him?"  
Annette laughed as Cyn responded. "I'm totally obsessed with that show, okay. And it was him."  
"He had gray eyes and a ski mask," Serri said, her voice devoid of any inflection.  
"Who the hell were you looking at?" Cyn said with some scorn. Serri caught her eye with a look.  
"Seriously," Guo-Xing said with some disgust. "I think you got hit harder than we thought."  
Elizabeth watched at Serri's temper flared. "Whatever," she said, her voice holding an element of disgust mixed with indignation. She shot Mulder and Elizabeth a glare of pent up anger. "All right. Cut the freakin' crap. I'll tell you what was in that stupid needle. Frickin' potassium. How the hell do I know that? It was in Cyn's story. The guy appeared in Spike's form. That was the character who almost, but not quite, died in her story. By the way, after a very questionable plot about how Spike became human." Serri glared at both agents. "How did he know who Cyn was? And moreover, how did he know where to find us?"  
Elizabeth and Mulder exchanged another glance. Before Mulder could say anything, Serri glared at both of them again, her eyes shooting daggers. "You know something that you aren't telling us. He tried to kill one of my friends, and you're leaving something out."  
"It doesn't matter," Mulder said, staring directly into Serri's mind.  
"The hell it doesn't," Hester said, her voice rising in anger for Serri. "I maybe didn't see anything, but I'm pretty sure Serri's not crazy either."  
"I saw him as he ran off," Arí said slowly, her voice soft. "And I know for a fact that it wasn't Spike. Spike has platinum blond hair, I didn't see that."  
"And that would be something hard to miss," Serri said, her voice quieter, but no less intense or angry. "You have to tell us. Why wouldn't you?"  
"Because you won't believe it," Elizabeth said calmly, looking over the group.  
"I believe you are assuming," Hester said. "And assuming makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'."  
"Just freakin' tell us already," Guo-Xing said, her dark eyes cold.  
"Yes, please do," Detective Miller muttered under his breath.  
Mulder let out a frustrated sigh. "We, or at least agent Drazen and I, think that this man can psychically see into his victims mind. He chooses his victims because they betray something close to him. All the victims have a Judeo-Christian background. Their belief in God and unrealistic optimism enrages him. He feels that they betray reality. Then, he gains access to their minds, learns about them, and kills them in the same manner the characters in the story were supposed to die. He psychically impresses his illusion on you to make you think he is that character." Mulder fell silent.  
"I take it back," Hester said with a slight smile, "you're right, we don't believe you." She moved away with Beth and Annette following. Guo-Xing murmured something about it being 'a load of crap fit for fertilizer only'. Only Cyn, Arí, and Serri remained. Serri looked at Arí with a raised eyebrow and a slightly crooked smile.  
"Why are you still standing here?" she asked, her voice somewhat dry and without anger.  
"To see why you're still standing here. And, it is possible . . . if not likely," Arí said, still looking at Serri.  
"Why are you still standing here?" Cyn countered. "You're the one who doesn't believe in ghosts, or horoscopes, or even Reconciliation for that matter. Or psychics."  
"I believe there is such thing as a psychic gift," Serri said slowly, her eyes not leaving Mulder's. "I also don't think everyone with their own 1-800 number has it." Her eyes touched Elizabeth's briefly. "Why do you believe this, Agent Drazen?"  
"After one eliminates the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth. Logic, my dears," she said, her own voice holding a hint of dryness. "I learned that in the Chronicles of Narnia." That prompted a smile from everyone present.  
"One question," Mulder said, looking at Serri. "Where the hell are your parents? I'd thought they would be here by now."  
"Phoenix," Arí said.  
"Don't have a car," Cyn replied.  
"Nebraska," Serri said. "Guo-Xing spoke to them about twenty minutes ago. There's like a foot of snow on the ground and more on the way, no way they're getting' back here for a while."  
  
Saint Louis, Missouri  
Unknown Residence  
  
The man paced his room, sweat pouring off his brow. This makes no sense, he thought to himself furiously. The girl had been involved twice, thwarting his plans to carry out justice. And she had been in that dream. It didn't make sense . . . doubly so. When he had looked into her eyes, he had seen nothing but a reflection of himself, his true self, not the illusion he had wrapped their deranged minds around.   
She had stopped him . . . . She was not subject to his power. Somehow the girl was protected-he had to break through that protection. It was only a matter of time before he would touch her. He paused in his pacing, calming his frustration while letting out a low growl. How did she stop him? How did she know to be in the right place? What made her different. He had to know.  
He had watched afterward, waiting in the shadows, far enough away that the police could not see him. He had seen the two FBI agents come up. That surprised him . . . the murders were clearly local and the FBI had no true jurisdiction, unless the police department had forgotten their petty disliking of each other in order to bring him down. Fools, he thought. They were only aiding the true traders of all of them.  
Suddenly, he moved across the room, sitting down in front of his computer and turning it on. He felt hot excitement build up within him. Perhaps the girl was protected by some evil force, but her friends were not, that was evident. He would start with the one named Cyn, slip into her mind. She would lead him to the others, and the others would be enough to allow him to defeat her.  
  
Drazen Residence  
North County, St. Louis  
6:35P.M.  
Christmas Eve  
  
Mulder stared at the papers he had in front of him in frustration. They had run his prints through every crime lab possible. Everyone from one time shop lifting offenders to serial murderers who had been locked up, presumed dead, whatever. Mulder was willing to reach here, but this guy came up clean. He sighed, tossing the papers on Elizabeth's dining room table. Elizabeth, Detective Miller, and a few other officers working the case had made Elizabeth's apartment temporary headquarters. They had maps tacked up on her walls, boxes of evidence lined up on the floor, pictures tacked to a large piece of cardboard. They had surrounded themselves with all aspects of the case.  
Mulder watched as Elizabeth stared at the photographs for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He was about to call her name, suggest an idea he had been considering at the back of his mind when her cell phone rang.  
"Drazen," she said, her voice calm. A moment later her eyebrows went up in pleased surprise. "Monica?" she asked, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "What's up? I was just thinkin' about you." Elizabeth listened for a moment, and Mulder watched as the smile vanished from her face, replaced by seriousness. "Yes," she said after a moment of profound silence. "I know." After a few moments, Elizabeth smiled again. "As usual, you're right. Thanks. Goodbye."  
"Who was that?" Mulder asked as Elizabeth continued to stare at the cell phone in her hand, a look of concentration on her face.  
"A friend," Elizabeth replied. She had a thoughtful look in her eyes. "Frequent partner when I'm not on special assignment." Elizabeth hung up the phone, staring at it, then turned to Mulder. "I've been thinking." She walked into the guest bedroom and study, beckoning for Mulder to follow her. She flipped the switch, turning on her computer as Mulder pulled up a chair. She finally turned to Mulder.  
"So this guy thinks all these stories are unrealstic, never going to happen. He only signed under 'Slave of Illusion' if he is going to target one of them as a victim. But that isn't his actual name on fanfiction.net. So how do we find his actual name?" she asked, shooting Mulder a look as she logged onto the internet and typed in the website's name.  
"We look at the opposite kind of writing," Mulder said slowly. "Depressing stuff. Everything that he said was lacking. Fatalism, characters dying. What he says is realism."  
"Exactly," Elizabeth said, her voice speeding up as she narrowed the search for type. She quickly tapped on the name 'Angst'. "So we find some guy with a screen name that reviews enthusiastically for the depressing stuff. It'll take a while, but we ought to be able to narrow the search. We can get the person's e-mail address from the server, and we probably can find out more information, seeing that we already know he's in Saint Louis or the immediate, surrounding area."  
"Good idea," Mulder said. "We can put some guys on it-of course, it may not work at all, the guy might be superparanoid and never sign under his own name, but I don't think so." Mulder pondered his next words for a moment, then leaned forward, meeting Elizabeth's eyes. "I also happen to have an idea."  
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes watching his, a hint of wariness entering them.  
"Why not try to lure the guy into attacking us?" Mulder asked. "Why not make him come to us?"  
"How do you mean?" Elizabeth asked.  
"Why not write one of those types of stories, and get him to come after us? We'd have him cold."  
Elizabeth stared at him, something in her eyes that Mulder couldn't discern. He looked over as Detective Miller entered the room. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Agent Mulder," Detective Miller said.  
"Why not, we know how this guy works, don't we? I'm sure we could come up with a plot line crappy enough to do the job."  
"You've got a hole in that logic, Mulder," Elizabeth said, shaking her head emphatically. "Think about it. The guy is psychic, if he gets in your head, he'll know what we're doing anyway. Not to mention, he'll know just how to fool you, get you off balance." Her voice lowered. "Mulder, come on, what if he appeared as Scully, or Diana, or Samantha, or hell, Alex Krycek for that matter? These are convincing illusions, Mulder, it would tear you apart thinking you would have to shoot one of them-except Krycek. We don't even know the extent of this man's powers, what if he projected an illusion that made you think I was Krycek? You'd shoot me in a second."  
Mulder stared at her, for a moment ignoring her logic. "How the hell do you know about Alex Krycek?"  
Elizabeth stared at him, looking frustrated. "The man is an international fugitive, everyone in the CIA and the FBI, not to mention the DOD, knows about him."  
"Yeah, but you seem to know that we have a personal connection with him," Mulder said, feeling for the first time uneasy in Elizabeth's presence. She caught that unease instantly.  
"I'm a street agent, undercover," she said, slowly. "I worked under A.D. Skinner for a few years on a particular assignment. Fill in the blanks."  
Mulder did. He knew for a fact that Skinner didn't oversee undercover ops that regularly. Only if they were especially assigned, or he had something to do with the cases. Krycek was someone Skinner had an interest and hatred for. It wouldn't surprise him that the man had assigned someone to do some digging. But it did surprise him that Mulder didn't know anything about it, no rumors, no nothing.  
"Why you?" Mulder asked as he searched her eyes. He knew that he wouldn't get much information out of her.  
"I'm hard to kill," Elizabeth said with a warning note in her voice. Mulder nodded, message received-she wasn't going to talk much more about it.  
"All right," Mulder said finally, looking at both Detective Miller and Agent Drazen. "We won't do that one. But let's expand on Elizabeth's idea. Let's get some tech support down here and start searching for any signatures made by this 'Slave of Illusion'."  
"Got it," Detective Miller said instantly.  



	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
  
Corazai Residence  
North County, St. Louis  
8:30P.M.  
Christmas Eve  
  
Serri opened the doorbell to reveal Maria standing on the front porch.  
"I heard about your rant against the FBI," Maria said as she stood on the porch. "I feel out of the loop."  
Serri grinned, "Come in already, I'm leavin' for Star's in about twenty minutes. Guo-Xing's already there, she caught a ride with Star and Cyn-I think she was too disgusted with me for being an idiot. You are going to the sleepover, right?"  
"That's what this is for," Maria said, referring to the backpack as she stepped inside. She dropped the backpack on the floor, then turned with a half-grin of skepticism. "So what's this I hear from Hester about you buyin' some shit about 'psychic powers'."  
Serri looked at her, the words 'forget about it' dying on her lips. She recalled a certain story Maria had told her, concerning divine protection and all that. Serri didn't know what Maria had felt at the time, but Serri herself would have been cautious about whom she shared that with. "Let me show you," Serri said, keeping her thoughts quiet. She headed for the stairs with Maria right behind her.  
The two walked into Serri's room, the computer was already on, and a candle was burning on the table. Serri grabbed a chair for Maria, then dropped down onto the stool herself. She quickly clicked on the internet icon, then went directly to the site. She silently showed Maria several examples of the reviews done by 'Slave of Illusion'. Maria already knew about the horrific deaths, so she didn't need to explain the connection.  
"And everyone saw this British guy, Spike?" Maria after a moment. "What did you see?"  
"A guy in a ski mask, and he had gray eyes."  
Maria shook her head, "That's damn weird. I see why you believe it then. I'm not saying I do, but I understand why you do." Maria shook her head, then gave a smile. "Has Guo-Xing posted anymore of Third Degree?"  
Serri smiled, then quickly typed in her sister's author name. "I don't know. I do know that I haven't touched the thing since we discovered the connection between the murders. It seems tainted somehow."  
"I can understand that," Maria repeated, nodding as they waited for the internet to connect.  
Serri snorted. "It's total crap, and you know it. Nearly anything can be used for evil. Even the most holy things. Look at all the so-called holy wars, said to be fought in the name of God, which have really been the most corrupt enterprises done in His name."  
"The damn Crusades," Maria said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She looked at Serri. "What the hell were they thinking?"  
"I don't know, but it makes me want to go back in time and kick the crap out of Innocent III for saying that people were saved if they fought an unjust war." Maria laughed at that and Serri turned her attention back to the screen.  
"Hey, this is a new one," Serri said, clicking on a story called 'Restoration'. As soon as Serri got a page and a half into it, she felt her throat constrict. "Oh, crap," she said outloud. She quickly highlighted the whole story and started printing it off her computer. Serri skimmed through the rest of it, feeling her anger boil to the surface.  
Maria instantly picked up on it as well. "This is in the same story format as the victims' stories. What the hell? She normally writes depressing shit, not this crap." She looked over at Serri, who quickly grabbed the papers, stuffed them in a folder, and grabbed a blue backpack, throwing it on the bed.   
"Shut that off for me, will ya?" Serri said, desperately trying to control her anger. Her eyes fell on her Bible laying on her bed, and she felt a certain calm come over her as realization set in.  
"She did it on purpose, didn't she?" Maria asked.  
"Yes," Serri said, pausing, her eyes still on the Bible. "Contrary to popular belief, my sister is anything but stupid, except for now, she's a freakin' moron."  
"Why the hell would she do something that damned stupid?"  
"You mean like try to make the guy come after her?" Serri asked. She closed her eyes for a moment, considering. "Because she doesn't believe the guy is psychic. She's actually doing this out of rebellious spite. She doesn't really believe he's that big of a threat, because she can't see past his illusion."  
Serri pulled her backpack off the bed, grabbing her coat in the process. "Let's get out of here, see if we can knock some sense into my sister's thick skull."  
Maria and Serri practically ran for the car, the communal one, the old Cougar that no one in their right mind would ever steal. Serri unlocked the door, opened Maria's side, then quickly started the engine. After a moment, she pulled out of the driveway.   
For a moment, Serri could be quiet and think. Star lived in Dogtown, and Serri knew the area pretty well. Her grandmother and a couple of aunts had lived there a few years back. They used to walk from Dogtown to the Central West End, or to U-City, to both Serri and her sister's dismay. Serri ran through the arguments in her mind, praying to God above that her sister wouldn't be too bull-headed. Yeah, right. Serri found herself praying that her sister would take the stupid story down before that idiot found out about it.   
In almost no time, Serri pulled up in front of Star's house. She slid to a stop, in a rarely well-done parallel parking job. She turned off the car engine, and just sat there for a moment.  
"Ready?" Maria asked her quietly.  
"Yeah," Serri said with mock-gravity. "I just keep having to convince myself not to kill her myself."  
Maria nodded, it was too serious for jokes. Both got out of the car, heading up the sidewalk and knocking on the door. Star, Star, Cyn, Arí, Hester, Cyd, and Jaeyrn were already there, sprawled out in the living room.  
"Hey, one of you lazy people going to get off your asses and open the door?" Maria asked in good humor.  
"No," Jaeryn said with a customary dead-pan. "We are going to sit here until you rot."  
Cyn got up, opening the door and admitting Maria and Serri. Cyn noted Serri's mood with a raised eyebrow. Serri shook her head. Cyd watched both of them, then turned to Beth who had just entered the room. "Serri's got that look on her face," she said to Beth who nodded knowingly.  
"What look?" Maria asked, glancing at her friend.  
"She is going to kick someone's ass," Beth said with confidence. "Anyone I know?"  
Serri ignored the question, but answered it at the same time. "Where's Guo-Xing?"  
"Ooh, the thick plottens," Hester remarked, "She's in the kitchen with Annette, Tomorrow, and Star."  
Serri instantly headed toward the kitchen, knowing that Beth, Hester, and Maria had followed. She stepped in the room to hear a chorus of laughter. Guo-Xing turned. "Howdy," she said with uncharacteristic cheerfulness. A moment later she saw the dour, unpleased look on her face. "Who died and made you me?" she asked after a moment.  
As Serri considered whether or not to be diplomatic, Beth kindly put in her two cents. "I think she wants to kick your ass, so you might try a little less playing around."  
"And? So, what's going on?" Guo-Xing said, looking to Maria, who appeared to know something.  
"Your story," she prompted, with a note of 'well, duh,' in her voice.  
Guo-Xing thought a moment, then shrugged with a smile. "Okay, so you read it, what about it?"  
"Are you outside your mind?" Serri asked, drawing the words out. "What is wrong with you?"  
"What happened?" Hester demanded a moment later, sensing the seriousness of the matter.  
"She wrote a damned stupid story like the other ones," Maria said. "Like the stories the victims of that guy, 'Slave of Illusion'."  
"Were you planning to be next on his list?" Serri asked. "What were you thinking?"  
"Hey, no big," Guo-Xing said with a condescending roll of her eyes. "That name? Ya mean my author name? It's a hotmail account I started at the friggin' library. They don't know anything about me. Most of the info I give these people is crap anyway."  
"You are on your knees, begging for trouble!" Serri fairly shouted. "You know about these cases. They couldn't figure out how the guy found his victims. Why should you be any different?"  
"C'mon, Serri, do you honestly expect me to believe the guy is some kind of psychic?" Guo-Xing said with a prominent sneer. She was beginning to get angry.  
"Maybe you should take it down," Hester said her voice becoming quieter as she fixed her eyes on Guo-Xing. "Why ask for trouble, she's right."  
"Plus, we don't know that there isn't some kind of psychic gift out here," Serri said, calming down a bit. "We don't know all there is to know. He already knows what you look like. He's got a connection to Cyn, too."  
"Forget it, babe, I'm not taking it down," Guo-Xing said, her voice very slow and deliberate.   
Serri stared at her for a long, slow minute. "Why not?"  
"Hello! Because it doesn't matter. You're buyin' into this psychic crap? What's that say about you? They only have psychic people in the stupid TV shows, they don't exist, babe. If I want to post a stupid story, then I will. And, it ain't none of your business. It's my life."  
Serri stared at her. "What in heaven is your problem? It is my concern. You not only endanger your own life, but you are endangering the rest of us as well. You're doing this because of pride. "'Pride cometh before a fall'."  
"Shut freakin' up," Guo-Xing shot back. She had a characteristic "Guo-Xing look" on her face her eyebrows were scrunched together and a look of total scorn mixed with I-think-your-a-total-idiot was directed singularly at Serri designed to infuriate anyone with a sane mind. "And, by the way, get off your sanctimonious friggin' high-horse. I know what it says, I don't need you quoting the-and I'm not going to say freakin' because that would just be bad-Scripture. I don't need you telling me how to handle this. Why do you think I did it? Hello, I'm not that stupid . . . okay, maybe I am, but shut up-"  
"Sanctimonious?" Serri said, losing her temper. She took a step forward. "Let me tell you something, if I didn't believe I didn't have to answer to God, I'd have already kicked your arrogant ass from here to the Golden Gate Bridge!" her voice had reached a volume that every noise in the house had stopped.  
"Or bitch-slapped you back to Africa," Hester interjected thoughtfully. When everyone glared at her, she put both her hands up. "Okay, she can bitch-slap you to Africa, then Holland, then say, Asia, 'cause that's where the Native Americans came from before they crossed the Bering Strait."  
"Thanks for the history lesson," Maria said sarcastically.  
"Why do you know our family tree anyway?" Guo-Xing asked, giving Hester a look.   
Serri glared at Hester for a moment, who blanched slightly. "You're right," she muttered. "This is serious."  
Guo-Xing started to reply, but Serri cut her off. "Don't talk to me. In fact, I don't even want to see your face until you get a brain." She turned to Star. "I am sorry, Star, but I have to go somewhere." She looked around for a moment. "I suggest you lock the doors." She walked out through the living room, then faltered, standing still for a moment, closing her eyes. If this guy went after them, went after Guo-Xing, then she owed it to them to stay-it seemed that only she could see past his illusion. She was under obligation to protect her sister and her friends, in spite of her stupidity.   
That wasn't quite accurate . . . she thought as she turned toward Arí who was watching her. Serri looked into her oldest friend's eyes, then spoke. "If you see anything, or feel anything for that matter, call 911, and call me. I'll be back in a few hours, definitely by one o'clock."  
"What happens at one o'clock?" Beth asked quietly.   
"Curfew," Serri said. "I'm not leaving you guys alone. I need to go home and get a few things, and pay someone I know a visit." She caught Maria's eye, and the girl nodded. "Let's go," she said.  
The two exited the front porch and slipped inside Serri's car. The temperature was dropping quickly outside, and Serri started the car. She sat behind the wheel for a moment, doing nothing.  
"You want me to drive?" Maria suggested. Serri looked to her, a look of frank concern on her face.  
"No, I'm cool," she said with a rueful smile, "just pondering my own stupidity."  
"What do you mean?" Maria asked.  
"Come on," Serri said as she put the car into gear. "I know my sister, I even knew how she was going to react. I don't know what's wrong with me." Then she shook her head. "'The tongue is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison, one no man can tame.' I lost my temper, and could have just lost us our lives."  
"You think it's that serious?" Maria asked, her eyes flitting down and to the side. "Where are we going?"  
"Back home," Serri replied. "Then I want to talk to these FBI people again, have them watch Guo-Xing's account or something. In person." She shook her head again. "Guo-Xing is extremely stubborn, once she believes something, she holds on to it. It's one of her best characteristics."  
"But its also her worst fault," Maria completed, her voice held familiarity.  
"Do you resemble that remark?" Serri asked, quoting one of her sister's sayings. "I do, I figured out a couple of years ago that my speech was a weapon. A little while later I learned that I could turn it against myself when I used it to hurt others. It still has potential to be my greatest strength and weakness."  
"I know what you mean," Maria said, looking out the window and shaking her head. "Let's just hope we can do something about it."  
  
Drazen Residence  
North County, Saint Louis  
10:57PM  
  
Mulder awoke to two female voices speaking with Detective Miller, one vaguely familiar and one not. He shook the sleep out of his system, then looked at his watch. The small face fell into focus, and Mulder cursed himself silently. He had accidentally fallen asleep for over an hour.  
"Damn," he said aloud, getting to his feet as one of the voices became louder.  
"You know, they have a police station for this shit," a girl said with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and glasses. She was on the tall side, and now she looked around the apartment with a look of mild disdain in her eyes. Her eyes fixed on Mulder's for a moment after she came into the room. "If this was my house, I wouldn't let them put all this crap in it."  
"I don't think I would either," Mulder said with some puzzlement. That puzzlement was only partially resolved when Serri walked into the room behind the girl. Detective Miller looked at them both, then at Mulder.  
"They wanted to speak with you and Agent Drazen," Detective Miller said.   
"It's important," Serri said swiftly, "we wouldn't have come otherwise. This is a friend of mine, Maria."   
Mulder nodded after a moment, and gestured for the two to sit on two chairs across from Elizabeth's couch. He watched the two exchange glances, then noticed that both were relatively calm, but upset about something. "Where's Agent Drazen?" Mulder asked Detective Miller.  
He shrugged. "She said she'd be gone for a couple of hours."  
"She Catholic?" Maria asked.  
"Christian," Mulder said.  
Maria shrugged. "Probably's at Midnight Mass, it is Christmas Eve."  
"It isn't midnight," Detective Miller noted somewhat dryly.  
"Normally there's singing beforehand. The usual collection of traditional Christmas music, the good stuff anyway. The best part of the service," Serri added.  
"I'll fill her in later, then," Mulder said, looking at both of them. "What is it?"  
"Guo-Xing did some stupid shit," Maria explained. "Just like the victims of this murderer."  
"Okay, the whole psychic deal?" Serri asked, her eyebrows going up. "You know how Guo-Xing thought it was crap? She did something monumentally stupid. She decided to write a story like the victims, she set herself up to be attacked."  
Mulder stared at them both in surprise, that was the furthest thing closest to his mind. "Oh, damn," he said, the words shocked from his lips. Serri looked at Maria with raised eyebrows, and Maria nodded grimly.  
"Yeah," Serri said. "The guy hasn't rewieved under her name the last time we checked, though. But that was about four hours ago."  
"Why didn't you come sooner?" Mulder said, getting to his feet and walking into the guestroom. A couple people were doing monitoring down here, and more at the department.  
"We went to the department first," Maria shot back. "And then we drove around the damn city for an hour, trying to find you. First, the idiots said you were at the Mariott. They gave us the wrong damn hotel, then we actually found the hotel, but you weren't there. Then we had to get gas, and we found out from Detective Miller where you would be. Had to come up to North County from the city."  
"Why didn't you just call?" Mulder asked in puzzlement.  
"Your cell phone's off," Serri replied. Mulder dug into his pocket, and sure enough, it was off. He stabbed the on button, and the infamous words 'low battery' appeared. He refrained from cursing this time, but spoke to the tech on the computer.   
"Can you get an author name for me?" He asked, still glaring at his damn phone. Scully had probably tried to call as well. He gestured that Serri or Maria give the information.  
"Ross," Serri said. "And not the guy from Friends, or E.R. for that matter," she said when Maria smirked at the well-known name. "It's some character name of hers that she stole from me."  
"Ross is the author of forty-seven stories," Mulder read aloud. He skimmed down on the stories. They had a variety of names, but most dealt with forgiveness, or redemption, or similar themes. The stories themselves almost without fail had a major character die. The first story, called Restoration, had no reviews, probably because it had only been posted a few hours ago. The tech clicked on the second story's review link, the story had eight reviews.  
"Bingo," the tech said, surprise tinting his voice. He tapped an author's name. "This guy, 'Cranesbeak' or whatever, he reviews under a lot of this depressing stuff." The man leaned forward. "Yeah, same approving tone of voice. I guess he likes Ross' stuff, he says 'great story again'."  
"Can you get his stories, and print them out?" Mulder asked. The tech nodded, and Mulder turned back toward the two girls, holding up a finger as he picked up Elizabeth's phone and dialed her cell phone number. It rang about four times, then the operator's voice began to drone.  
"There's a church on Natural Bridge, not more than a few blocks away that she could have gone to," Serri suggested, correctly guessing who he was going to call.  
"Yeah," Maria said, picking up an envelope from on top of a desk. She tossed it to Mulder. "Saint Ann Parish?"  
"Yeah, went there for grade school, why?" Serri asked, picking up a stack of paper from the printer and earning a warning look from the tech. She ignored him.  
"That's the name of the church on the envelope," Maria explained.  
Mulder looked at the previously opened package. It was a packet of small envelopes. "Offertory envelopes," Maria told him. "Put money, check in it, send it up right before Communion."  
"Is everyone in this city Catholic?" the tech asked with a grumble as Mulder studied the address.  
"No," Maria replied condescendingly. "Only half, and that's Roman Catholic, not Eastern Orthodox, why do you think they call it an Archdiocese?"  
"Because there's an archbishop?" the guy replied, causing Mulder to roll his eyes and Serri to look at the man with an expression of incredulity.   
"Other way around, sweetheart," Maria replied, her voice holding obviously false cheeriness. When Maria said the word 'sweetheart', it sounded more like 'dipshit'. "Archbishop because of the archdiocese. You need to read a book every once in a while, one that's not 'Computer Science Monthly', or some other shit. Do you think they're called 'Cardinals' because the birds made some damn nests on the Cathedral's flying buttresses?"  
"It would disturb me to be that culturally ignorant," Serri said, not fully paying attention to their conversation, but amused by Maria's comment. "I think this is your guy," she told Mulder.  
"Why?" Mulder said as she handed him the stack, opened to the second page.   
"This is an original story written by Cranesbeak," Serri pointed out. "and this is a poem. Do you recognize it?"  
Mulder scanned the poem. It was written in a peculiar style, unusual punctuation, had no rhyme, not really any type of rhythm. " Grass as knives," he said aloud, the style was somewhat familiar, but it didn't seem quite right. "it sounds almost like Emily Dickenson," Mulder said, looking at both Maria and Serri.  
Marai shook her head. "Naw, it's not weird enough for Dickenson. She writes about funerals in her brain, happy stones, and death as her courtier." She smiled somewhat at Mulder's raised eyebrows. "We had American Literature last year. It's too negative. Dickenson was inspired by Emerson, Thoreau, the Transcendentalist movement. Who is it, Melville?"  
"No, but on the right track," Serri replied. "Its Stephen Crane, called the Wayfarer, as you see by the first line of the poem. I don't know why the guy didn't quote his source, that's very illegal. If it helps, Agent Mulder, Crane was very much inspired by Dickenson."  
"He was a naturalist, wasn't he?" Mulder mused, making his way into the living room. "Crane, Cranesbeak." He put the papers down in a stack with a glance at the tech. "How subtle," he remarked dryly. "Get this guy's e-mail address if you can, contact the server. Tell everything to Detective Miller, I am going to find our renegade Agent Drazen." Mulder turned toward Serri and Maria. "Thanks for the information. We'll watch Guo-Xing's account, see if this guy reviews it. Will you be at home?"  
"No," Serri said. She reached in her purse, unzipped it, and scribbled a number on the piece of scratch paper. "This is the number where we'll be."  
"I'll ask Detective Miller to put an officer on you guys, but it may not help," Mulder replied. He paused for a moment, then looked carefully at Serri. "What is truth to you?"  
"Why do you ask?" Serri asked, looking slightly surprised.  
"Because so far, only you and one other person can see this guy as he is. If I get your perspective, maybe that can help us figure that guy out."  
Serri nodded, then looked off to the side. "You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." She smiled, a touch crookedly. "Do you know how few people realize that's from the Gospel of John? Jesus said that he is "The Way, the Truth, and the Light, and I'm inclined to believe him. The truth is God, basically. It isn't this relativistic crap you hear about morality and reality now a days, it's the truth as God made it, and how He sees it, independent of my feelings on the matter. If you inserted 'truth' for 'joy' in C. S. Lewis's statement, 'I think that anyone who seriously desires joy will find it,' you're looking at my opinion. It's looking at truth for the truth's sake that matters."  
Mulder nodded, and Serri and Maria turned to leave. He followed them a moment later, out the door, and watched them get into a slightly rusted old Cougar and drive away. He got into his car a moment later, then followed them up the street. At the Natural Bridge and Lucas-Hunt intersection he made a left, then went down Natural Bridge until he saw the Church. He made an easy left hand turn and pulled down into the parking lot at the rear of the church. Sure enough, Agent Drazen's dark blue car was sitting in the lot, near the middle. He parked next to her car, then got out.   
Mulder shivered slightly against the cold, the temperature was a far cry from Wednesday, when it had been at least seventy degrees. He recalled A.D. Skinner's dry words on the subject and smiled wryly as he jogged up the stone stairs. He thought a moment, then altered his course to enter the Church at the rear; he didn't want to attract unneeded attention. Of course, he wasn't on the lee side, so he felt every bit of the chilling breeze. Mulder walked in the large glass double doors of the church to hear some traditional Christmas music. The song was "O Holy Night", performed by a particularly piercing soprano. He passed through the second set of doors, scanning the church for Elizabeth.   
She was in the approximate middle of the Church, kneeling. Mulder felt his step falter, and he slipped into a pew a few rows back from her own. Mulder smiled to himself, praying was something that never ceased to surprise him. When he was younger he had believed firmly in God, hadn't really questioned it. As he got older, and saw more of the world, he had become more and more skeptical. At certain times in his life, he hadn't wanted to believe in God, now . . . he really didn't know.   
But praying . . . praying had a singular effect on most people, Christian or not. When a person observed another person praying, truly praying, one knew that was something not to be interrupted. That was a moment that you backed out of the room, then waited for the person patiently to get done. Mulder smiled, that amused him. What created that kind of automatic respect for an act? If someone's communicating with the Divine, or more especially if the Divine's talking to that person, I wouldn't want to interrupt, Mulder thought dryly.  
A moment later, Elizabeth turned slightly, her eyes flickering over the church, then resting on him. He noticed she was singing the words to the song at the same time. Her eyebrows went up in mild surprise, and she beckoned him over. He rose, and went forward, sitting next to her just as the song ended. For a moment he looked forward, staring at the stain glass in the front of the church, past the alter. He could make out individual elements, a hand reaching down from heaven, the dove as the holy Spirit, the cross and crucifixion, very powerful images, their power communicated even to Mulder.  
"It has always amazed me," Elizabeth softly said as the instrumental music began. "The power of art-have you ever been to the Cathedral in St. Louis?"  
"No," Mulder responded, his voice equally soft.  
"You should," Elizabeth replied. "It's . . . terrible beauty. The whole thing gives me chills as I read some of the inscriptions and imagine the scene. It's heart wrenching."  
Mulder looked at her carefully, not many people thought religion, or even God was 'heart-wrenching', but he supposed it was so. An innocent man was brutally murdered in a torturous and unjust death for the crimes of others, what other story could be that 'heart-wrenching'?  
The song, "What Child is This?" began to play, and Elizabeth quickly thumbed through the hymn book, obviously finding the place by memory. She sang the words with obvious meaning, and obvious skill. Mulder knew that she had to have some training, or some practice to have that good of a voice. He listened until the song ended; then Elizabeth stood up, surprising him.  
"Where are we going?" Mulder asked quickly, moving out of the pew at her direction. The two headed for the side door.   
Elizabeth held the door open for Mulder, then followed him through. "You tell me," she responded. "What did you have to tell me?"  
"It can probably wait," Mulder said cautiously.  
Elizabeth smiled. "God won't be angry if I don't go to Mass, Mulder," she said with some amusement. "He died for me two thousand years ago, not on this day that someone chose to recognize it. We honor Him with our lives."  
Mulder followed her to her car. "You know, that used to get me about some believers. They were strict on going to church on Sunday, but seemed to forget it the rest of the week."  
Elizabeth nodded. "Still gets me," she remarked with a smile. "Paul told us not to judge people on their observation of holy days, if you recall. What has you this concerned to find me at mass?"  
Mulder sighed, looking down as he leaned against her car. "Apparently Guo-Xing Corazai had the same idea I did-let's see if we can catch the killer by writing some kind of story to attract his attention."  
Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide with apprehension. "No," she whispered, partially in shock.  
Mulder shook his head and shrugged at the same time, hands in his pockets. Sounds stupid now, does it? he asked himself. "Yeah, but this time I don't think her goal was actually to catch the guy. She doesn't believe he's psychic-so she really doesn't think he's a threat."  
Elizabeth closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. In a moment, she let it out while opening her eyes again. "Serri told you this?" she asked with some certainty.  
"Yes," Mulder replied with a slight quirk of his lips. "She was distinctly unpleased."  
Elizabeth half-smiled, a touch of skepticism evident. She opened the car door, "Somehow I think you're understating that," she said with a hint of dryness in her voice.  
"That's about right," Mulder said, shoving off the car and making his way over to the rental. He shook his head again as he dropped down behind the steering wheel. "They are in some serious trouble."  



	8. Chapter 8

1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 8  
  
  
  
"I don't believe this," the man said, fury beginning to build inside of him. He scanned the story, once, twice, three times. "I don't understand—how, how could she do this? Betray me?" The man glared at the screen, his fury mounting as he began to rock back and forth.  
  
"She will pay for her treachery," he said slowly after about five minutes. The author name on the screen could be clearly seen as 'Ross'.  
  
The man stared at the computer, focusing his attention. The air seemed to shiver away from him as his eyelids drooped. He stared, unseeing, unblinking at the screen for about ten minutes.  
  
"Justice will be done," he said firmly. "I will take justice to her, and the other one as well."  
  
The man hesitated slightly, for he knew the one he could not see through was close to this Guo-Xing. He wasn't sure quite how to handle this—no one had been opaque to his vision before. What did this mean? Maybe she was more truthful than others were, so he couldn't see into her.  
  
No, he decided, she must be all the more untruthful. "I shall have justice for her as well—not only for being the slaves of illusions and lies, but also for seeking to thwart justice."  
  
"No, man, you're only crazy if you talk to yourself and answer," Maria argued to Hester, then smiled. "But don't worry, we know you're crazy."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Maria," Hester grumbled.  
  
"Can we know what the word means?" Jaeryn demanded.  
  
"Like she doesn't already know," Beth said to Arí with a smirk.  
  
"Really," Serri said with a sly smile. "She just wants everyone else to know that she knows."  
  
"Doesn't matter," Star said, a touch dejectedly. She had already crashed from her Mountain Dew high. "We know that she knows, even if she doesn't know."  
  
"Was that even a coherent sentence?" Guo-Xing wanted to know.  
  
"You couldn't tell the difference if it was," Jaeryn murmured under her breath.  
  
"Hey! I resemble that remark," Guo-Xing admitted.  
  
"Non-aggressive noodle arms strikes again!" Samantha yelled in triumph, referring to Jaeryn's rather unique nickname.  
  
"Alright, word, already" Annette directed, sounding a bit snippy. She hated the game 'Balderdash'—and had succinctly put 'bull-crap' on every single card she received.  
  
"Somniloquist," Samantha read aloud from her position in the circle of friends. The group was involved in a game of Balderdash and a 24-pack of Mountain Dew—not a good combination for anyone who wished to keep their sanity. Samantha smirked before she started talking again, her gray-green eyes lighting up with amusement. "Hmm, let's see, 'one who talks in their sleep', 'a person who talks in their sleep', 'some dude that's yacking in his sleep,'" she paused in her recitation to glare at Guo-Xing who sat with a pseudo-innocent smile on her face. "And, well, what do you know, 'a person which talks in his or her sleep.'" Then Sam grinned, shooting a look at Star with an evil grin. "In case you guys didn't know, that's the right answer. Of course, one person did get it wrong. And that person said 'a ventriloquist with narcolepsy—'"  
  
"Okay!" Star said, scowling at Sam, "I get it already, I'm an idiot. But I've had five cans of Mountain Dew in two hours and my head really hurts—"  
  
"And whose fault is that I wonder?" Jaeryn muttered under her breath, too low for Star to actually understand what she said.  
  
"Yeah," Beth said with a devilish grin. "The words 'own damn fault' come to mind."  
  
"Well, it could have been Mongolian barbecue in a Danish restaurant like last time," Holly offered.  
  
"True enough," Sam responded.  
  
"—shut up, Jaeryn," Star said between gritted teeth. "and I so got no sleep last night, and it is two o'clock in the morning, how am I supposed to think?"  
  
"Everyone else did," Jaeryn pointed out logically; everyone snickered.  
  
Star glared at Jaeryn again, but before she could say anything, Hester sang out: "Estoy hablando y no puedo callarme!"  
  
Serri smirked and the other people who were in Spanish sections—and Jaeryn who knew everything—laughed.  
  
"What'd she say?" Star asked. "Wait a minute, I don't want to know."  
  
"No, you really don't," Guo-Xing said with a smile, glancing down to her watch. "Guess we won't be going to sleep tonight."  
  
"I want to know what it means," Cyn protested.  
  
"You take Spanish, man," Maria said, sneering ever-so-slightly.  
  
"Meaning?" Cyn asked.  
  
Serri leaned over, having pity on her. "It means, 'I'm talking and I can't shut up. Or I can't shut myself up, literally."  
  
"Either works," remarked Hester, who was grinning, quite proud of herself.  
  
"The things we use our Spanish for," Holly remarked with a blissful sigh.  
  
"Señorita Anderson would be so proud," Guo-Xing remarked.  
  
They went onto the next word, which happened to be 'nebneb'.  
  
"What the hell kind of word is this?" Maria grumbled as she read out the card, smirking at the definition. "Trust me, this is as stupid as anything you all can come up with."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Hester said. "Wah-ha-ha."  
  
A moment later, when Maria had the slips of paper, she was forced to agree with Hester. "Nebneb, 'what Jawas recite when stealing droids on Star Wars'," she read aloud, waiting for the laughter to die down. "Apparently you guys think alike—" then, abruptly, she stopped, her eyes narrowing behind her silver framed glasses. Her hazel-eyes narrowing, she spoke aloud, her voice commanding attention. "Anybody hear that?"  
  
Rather than idiotically saying 'hear what' and blanketing the noise, everyone in the room shut up and listened closely.  
  
"It's probably our psycho-stalker guy coming to kill us all in our sleep," Serri said darkly, scowling after not hearing anything for a moment. "All because some idiot wrote a negative-I.Q. story to make him target her."  
  
"Bite me," Guo-Xing shot back, a scowl\sneer imbedded on her face.  
  
Before she could add any other insulting remarks, Beth stepped. "Okay, I know you guys want to fight and all, but that might turn into beating the crap out of each other, and that would be blood and gore and bad, you know? So don't fight okay?"  
  
Guo-Xing shot her a look, but didn't say anything. Hester grinned maniacally. "Blood! Yum!"  
  
"You're disgusting," Serri informed her.  
  
"I know," Hester said happily. "That's why you love me."  
  
"Oh, God," Jaeryn groaned, briefly shutting her eyes. Abruptly, there was a slight scratching noise toward the window.  
  
"That, I think we all heard," Serri said in a very low voice.  
  
"No kidding," Cathy added sarcastically. She looked around. "Anyone want go and find out what that noise actually was?" she demanded.  
  
Serri jumped to her feet instantly, and walked toward Star's bedroom to retrieve her jacket. She waved a hand in the air to signify that she was interested in Sam's idea. Serri walked toward the door and grabbed the doorknob.  
  
"Oh, stuff," Serri shouted, jerking her hand away. The knob was so hot that her palm had red welts crossing it. A horrible thought entered her mind. Serri took a step back, then lifted her right leg, slamming it into the door with a powerful push-kick.  
  
"What the hell?" Jaeryn yelled as everyone got to their feet. Hester and Guo-Xing were the first to reach Serri's side. The door had collapsed inward, torn off its hinges. The three of them stared at the small but intense fire growing in the room.  
  
"Star, where's your fire extinguisher?" Serri snapped quickly. To her credit, Star didn't answer, just ran to get it. Malora and Sam were already off toward the bathroom; they ran back with sopping wet towels in their hands.  
  
"I'm calling 911," Beth shouted from the living room. Star reappeared and expertly aimed the extinguisher at the worst of the fire. Annette had a bucket of water and tossed it at Star's desk, which was now a small tower of flames. The fire extinguished took care of the worst of it, and they used the towels to subdue the rest of the fire.  
  
"Way to go, Star!" Serri said, praising the girl. "Guess it comes in handy to have a dad for a fire-fighter, huh?" Star just shrugged, trembling slightly.  
  
"Beth," Guo-Xing instructed to the girl who has still on the phone with the emergency services. "Tell them the fire's out, but this was definitely arson, the fire came from the side of the room nearest the window, and spread that way." Beth nodded, her blue eyes wide and distinctly angry. She struggled to talk to the officer without using 'colorful dialogue' until Arí took the phone out of her hand and calmly related what Guo-Xing had said.  
  
Calmly, that was, until the door exploded inward. Beth let out a particularly colorful obscenity, but it was only Star's father, dressed in full fireman regalia.  
  
"Damn!" Maria shouted at him angrily. "The fire didn't kill us, but you might with that thing," she said pointing to the ram he held in his hands.  
  
"The fire is out, it's okay," Arí said, sounding remarkably calm. "We already told emergency services that."  
  
"How'd you get here this fast?" Malora asked, folding her arms stiffly across her chest, her sharp blue eyes skeptical. She tossed her bangs out of her for one moment; then they fell back down. "Normally response time is much slower."  
  
"Luckily, we were already near by, we had just responded to a different call when we heard this one on the dispatch." Star's father sighed. "Grab your coats or a blanket or something. We'll have to make sure there isn't any fire in the basement. We're turning off the gas until further notice."  
  
The group stood huddled in the living room as firemen worked their way in and out of the house. A few minutes later, two patrol cars and a sedan pulled up, flashing lights. Mulder and Drazen were there, coming up the steps behind a few other unrecognizable cops.  
  
Serri and Hester saw them coming and went down to meet them. Serri because she was curious why they were there and Hester because she still thought Agent Mulder was hot.  
  
"Oh, my," Hester said with a idiotic grin on her face as she watched Agent Mulder.  
  
Serri gave her a look. I'm not sure I want to know, she thought to herself. Steeling herself, she rolled her eyes and asked: "What?"  
  
"Only guys can pull off that walk," she said, her eyes firmly glued to the male FBI agent. "And your sister, Androgyny Girl."  
  
Serri gave Hester a repulsed look as she searched for a way to defend her sister. "So does that mean you're as infatuated with my sister as you are with Agent Mulder?"  
  
Hester shook her head, not looking the least bit offended. "No, not really. She might be androgynous, but if she were actually a guy she'd be way too effeminate for me to be interested in her."  
  
Serri looked as if she was going to upchuck her last meal. "Too much information," she groaned. "I should tell Guo-Xing about your nick-name for her, buy popcorn, and watch her beat the living crap out of you."  
  
Hester turned toward her with raised eyebrows. "So crap is living now? That's nice to know." She paused for a moment. "Do you really think she could beat me up that easily?"  
  
"In a word?" Serri asked, pretending to contemplate the matter. "Yes."  
  
"I always thought she was a bit of a wuss," Hester confided as the two agents mounted the final step.  
  
Serri smirked at her, her eyes twinkling dangerously. "Well . . . you could try out your hypothesis . . . and the only thing I would say to you after I helped cart your bleeding and broken body to the hospital would be 'sucks to be you'."  
  
"You're mean," Hester said after a minute of contemplation. The agents were silent, listening to the last part of the conversation.  
  
"Perhaps," Serri said with an inordinate amount of cheerfulness. "But it would be meaner to tell you that you could beat her, and then say 'sucks to be you'."  
  
"Yeah," Hester admitted, fighting a grin. She then addressed Agent Mulder, "didn't expect to see you guys out here."  
  
"Yeah," Arí said suddenly from behind him. "I didn't think the FBI were much interested in domestic fires."  
  
Serri turned around and blinked at Arí while shivering from a gust of cold wind. "Did I know you were standing behind me?"  
  
Arí smiled at her. "You were telling Hester how she'd get beat up if she . . . angered Guo-Xing—I didn't want to interrupt."  
  
Serri nodded, "'Beat down' might be a more accurate phrase, but I got'cha." She nodded toward Drazen and Mulder. "What's up? Did you think our pyscho boy might have set the fire?"  
  
Agent Drazen stared at the house, her dark eyes betraying only a hint of her concern. "Perhaps—but why? The fire wasn't set in order to kill you."  
  
"How do you know that?" Hester asked.  
  
"Because he could have used gasoline to accelerate the fire," Mulder answered, looking from Drazen to Hester to Arí to Serri. "And he didn't. But I'm certain he set this fire."  
  
"How's that?" Serri snapped, suddenly nervous.  
  
"Because we were headed this way already before we even knew about the fire. Slave of Illusion reviewed your sister's story," Mulder said. "We need to get her to a safe place."  
  
"That's going to be pretty hard, especially when she doesn't believe that this guy can do any of this stuff," Serri said uneasily.  
  
"Who's Slave of Illusion?" Hester asked. Then her eyes widened as she connected the dots. "The guy—that's what you wouldn't tell us. You and Guo-Xing found out who this guy was!"  
  
Mulder nodded. "I want to talk to your sister again." Just then, Star came running out from around the back of the house. She was crying almost hysterically and her hand was placed on her forehead. Mulder and Drazen ran over to her, outdistancing the teenagers.  
  
Mulder grabbed her shoulders, instantly seeing the blood caked on her forehead. "What happened, Star?" he asked urgently.  
  
"He shot something at her," she managed to croak out between sobs. "And he hit me over the head before I could even scream! I couldn't have been out for over a minute . . . but they were gone!"  
  
"He took Guo-Xing?" Drazen asked, her voice rising in worry and surprise.  
  
Nearly identical looks of shock and horror were on the other three teenagers' faces. Within a minute, Serri's had changed to nearly pure anger.  
  
"Bastard," Hester spat out, her face darkening. Mulder and Drazen exchanged looks—this was definitely not good.  
  
"Wait a minute—" Arí started to say. She stopped.  
  
Serri didn't. "He's never done anything like this before, has he? Kidnapping? Why wouldn't he just kill her?"  
  
Mulder shook his head. Then it dawned on him. "He probably wants her to get to someone else."  
  
"Who?" Serri demanded. "And why?"  
  
Mulder turned to face her, speaking quickly as he came to his conclusion. "Think about it, Serri. He's knows that Guo-Xing is one of the people who stopped his assault on Cyn. No one has been able to do that before, except for one other time. But Guo-Xing's not the only one who helped stop him. There was one other major player. That other player is also able to recognize him. If Slave of Illusion can see into Guo-Xing's mind, he knows what she knows. That she and one other person found out his methodology. He also knows that the FBI is looking for him now."  
  
"Consider this," Drazen continued. "Who is more of a threat, Guo-Xing, or you, the person who can see through his illusion? He's using her to get through to you."  
  
Serri stared at him, stunned. "But Arí can see through it, too."  
  
"Guo-Xing doesn't know that," Hester interjected instantly. "Remember, she left when we started talking about stalker guy. She only knows that you can tell who he really is."  
  
"And he only knows what she knows," Mulder concluded finally. "And she knows you to a 't'."  
  
Serri frowned, then looked at Arí and Hester, a touch of fear entering her eyes. "We are in some serious crap," she said flatly. 


	9. Chapter 9

1 Chapter 9  
  
  
  
Guo-Xing sat up, blinking the way the drowsy affect of the depressant. She grimaced as nausea rolled through body. She glared angrily at her surroundings. What do you know—she appeared to be in an abandoned school's gymnasium. A fairly small school, by the look of it. Everything was dusty and cobwebbed, no one had used these facilities for at least a couple of years. Guo-Xing squinted in the dim light to look at the ropes that bound her hands and feet. For a moment she vainly wished for the telekinetic skills of some of the characters in her stories. And why don't I wish for teleportation while I'm at it? Guo-Xing asked herself. Or telepathy, or that "connection" twins are supposed to have that is sadly missing in reality. As Guo-Xing shoved herself against the wall behind her and rose to her feet, she summoned the last vestiges of memory from her drug- impaired mind.  
  
A man, her newly created character from her story Restoration had thrown something at her, and Guo-Xing just remembered him cracking Star over the head with something large and blunt. What the heck? Guo-Xing asked herself. This really doesn't fit the profile—why after the psycho killer graduated to murder, did he decide to downgrade to a paltry abduction?  
  
1.1 "Come now, Guo-Xing, you are a smart girl," a feathery voice whispered from out of Guo-Xing limited sight. "Why do you think I didn't kill you?"  
  
Because you decided to be a nice guy and figured out that killing people is wrong, Guo-Xing thought sarcastically.  
  
"Try again," the soft, wavering voice said again. He finally came into her sight and still appeared to be the young man from her story.  
  
Guo-Xing felt a sharp chill pucker her skin as she realized that the man knew her every thought.  
  
"Not your every thought," he corrected. "But the most prominent ones, those I know. So, my dear Guo-Xing—why did I kidnap you?" He held up a finger before she replied. "Let me help you out a little here. At first I felt betrayed that you'd write that horrid slop Restoration, then I realized it was just a ploy because you didn't believe in my power. That of course is very understandable—but you already opened the door for me. I know everything—about your dear sister, pardon me, your dear twin Serri, the FBI, the latest story ideas for Tears of the Phoenix and Hiding in the Shadows—oh, just everything. So . . . now that I've given you that, what do you know?"  
  
Understanding had already dawned on Guo-Xing. "You're usin' me to get to Serri and the FBI. Serri, I suppose because you can't fool 'er—though I don't see how you think you can get to her. She's not stupid—she's not going to run out here on her own. Hey," Guo-Xing said, loading her words with enough scorn-dripping sarcasm as possible, "why is it that you can't touch her? That's why you're wasting your time now. You want to learn as much about her as possible because you can't—"  
  
"I can't touch that bitch because she's twice the liar that the rest of your little entourage is. I cannot get through all the damned lies she's put up around her. She doesn't know anything about truth and I do not think she cares to."  
  
Guo-Xing frowned. If Serri was anything, she wasn't a liar. That girl harped more about Truth than any other person alive. She thought truth was static and pervading—she didn't believe any of that post-modern, relativistic stuff that some people used to justify themselves. "Truth? What is truth, Cranesbeak? Yeah, that's right—I figured out who you are. Serri's not a liar or a deceiver—and you are. You don't have a clue, you self-congratulating idiot," Guo-Xing didn't bother to curb her words or insults because he would know them anyway. "I know What truth is," Guo- Xing said with a grim smile. "Because He Is, and I AM is Truth." With that statement, the man's illusion shriveled away from him, and Guo-Xing heard something like a great steel door slam shut around her mind. Judging from the ashen look on the man's face, he could no longer sense Guo-Xing's thoughts.  
  
Guo-Xing grinned triumphantly in the darkness of the gymnasium—it now seemed brighter than it had ever been. "I think you just lost your edge."  
  
Agent Mulder had suggested that Serri go home and received a look of derision for his troubles. He had then suggested the same to Hester who replied that he was smoking something. From Arí he received a simple, quiet "no". Star had gone kicking and screaming—nearly literally—her parents had come and dragged her away. Jaeryn, Malora, and Cathy had gone grimly but willingly. Annette, Beth, Holly, and Kara had departed much in the same matter, but with a few more tears than the others.  
  
Serri looked up as a tech handed a file of information to Agent Drazen. "We've got a possible address," Drazen said, her voice calm and professional. "Unfortunately, I do not think we have enough for a search warrant. This "Cranesbeak" looks like our guy—but the D.A.'s office isn't going to like the description of the suspect. We have no physical evidence to link him to the crime—only that he fits a rather vague profile."  
  
Mulder stood up and paced the room, obviously frustrated. "This may not even be the guy—how do you question a man who can appear any way he wants?"  
  
As the two agents argued, Serri stood up and walked over to Hester and Arí. "This man is not a shapeshifter," Serri said slowly.  
  
"No—he doesn't physically change," Hester said in agreement.  
  
"He only changes the way he appears to you," Arí added.  
  
"Right, so if you video-tapped him, or looked at the guy from a point where he couldn't manipulate your mind, you'd be able to see him, undisguised."  
  
"Agent Mulder!" Serri called out. After they explained to the agents the video idea, Hester broke in with another comment.  
  
"Once we catch this guy, then what? He'll escape in no time. Or maybe he'll trick the jury somehow—we know he can manipulate what people hear him say. What are we supposed to do about that?"  
  
Serri looked surprised for a moment. "Guess we'll have to figure it out then."  
  
Mulder knocked on the door to the small second floor apartment building. No one answered. He looked at Elizabeth with raised eyebrows. He noticed that she did not stand directly in front of the door, but to the side, her hand drifting a little toward her hostler. She reached out and struck the door three times with the pad of her fist. "Open up! FBI!" she shouted. She returned Mulder's look and shook her head.  
  
Mulder fished out his handy little lock-pick and inserted the wires into the doorknob, turning and wiggling it expertly.  
  
"You could probably blow this door down," Detective Miller said with distaste. "Very poor quality."  
  
Elizabeth's eyebrows went up. "You could probably blow the walls down," she remarked. "One would think this man could concentrate on a job rather than on murdering innocent people he finds on-line."  
  
Mulder finally pushed the door open and rocked back on his feet. He stepped inside the building and paused as he heard Elizabeth draw her weapon. Mulder looked back, met her eyes and received a shrug. With a sigh, he pulled out his own weapon as well and flipped off the safety. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself. Detective Miller, Elizabeth, and Mulder quickly spread out into every room of the apartment.  
  
Mulder's eyes flickered over the run-down room, deftly measuring the mild level of chaos present. His eyes caught on the only factor that seemed out of place—a fairly new computer in the corner of the room, away from the windows. Mulder quickly walked over to it, slipped on a pair of gloves, and stabbed the power button.  
  
He turned when Elizabeth quickly reentered the room, re-holstering her weapon. "Nothing," she said succinctly. Then her eyebrows went up at the sight of the powered-up computer. Mulder caught her gaze, but she shrugged.  
  
"Far be it from me to halt the advances of lawlessness that we seem to be content to propagate here," she said dryly. Then she shook her head. "I wish my partner were here," she muttered under her breath.  
  
Mulder started with surprise, then couldn't help smiling. "I was just thinking the same thing," he admitted. "I'm afraid I don't even know who your partner is. You've met Agent Scully."  
  
"Several times at Quantico," Elizabeth affirmed. "Monica Reyes, down in New Orleans, mostly. She's an expert on cults." She smiled mischievously. "You'd like her, she's curious about this kind of stuff." Elizabeth perched on the edge of the desk. "But that's not why I want her here. She gets vibes, you know? And she occasionally sees things that other people aren't as sensitive to. Maybe it sounds a little odd, but she's definitely the kind of person you want working an X-File, or homicide, or that cultic mess."  
  
"So what about you?" Mulder asked, temporarily ignoring the computer. He watched Elizabeth with narrowed, pointed eyes. His innate curiosity about the agent's willingness to work on an X-File—and one that personally disturbed her—bubbled through to the surface.  
  
"Me?" Elizabeth asked completely without guile. "What do you mean, what about me?"  
  
"Why are you here?" Mulder asked quietly. "How did you even know about this case? You were assigned back to Quantico as an instructor for the next six months, and suddenly you're back in your hometown of St. Louis for an X-File you couldn't possibly know about."  
  
Elizabeth's face clouded over. She closed her eyes momentarily and lifted a hand to massage her brow. "I had a dream."  
  
"A dream?" Mulder asked, his voice hitching into a laugh. A slight smile spread involuntarily across his face. "You're joking . . . you're not joking. Are you telling me that the most stable, grounded, and sensible person in the world has prophetic visions?"  
  
Elizabeth's eyes twinkled for a moment. "Some would say I'm not too grounded, I believe in the 'pie-in-the-sky' after all. And the dreams aren't so much prophetic as directive. I knew it would be better if I were here. Enough of this."  
  
Mulder nodded, they should have been focusing on the case. He stared blankly at the computer screen for a moment. He wants us to find him, he thought instinctively. So where would he put the clue? Mulder took in a sharp breath and reached for the mouse. Hardly daring to hope, he clicked on the "My Computer" icon, then went to "Control Panel", then "Display". He quickly accessed the "Scrolling Marquee" function, and a text box appeared on the screen.  
  
Mulder heard Elizabeth breathe in and hold her breath. Mulder himself breathed deeply, then read the message aloud. "Very good, the fox and the owl are clever as always. If the fox and the owl want to hunt they can take lessons at the old parish around the corner." Mulder shook his head, the man hadn't disguised his intentions very well. However, it was just good enough for a lawyer or a skeptical District Attorney to poke holes through any case Mulder or Drazen made against this guy.  
  
"There aren't any churches around here," Detective Miller said. "I think this guy is messing with our heads."  
  
"Yes, he's messing with our heads—but there's a closed-down Catholic school down the street," Elizabeth said grimly. "The church isn't there anymore, but the school building remains . . . sort of."  
  
Mulder stood up and flicked off the computer without bothering to shut it down. "Why don't we go hunt ourselves a rat?" he inquired. 


End file.
